Whilst the screams of benevolence murmur quietly,
I might dare to walk across mud-soaked lanes,
And I might continue to see you standing in the rain,
Tears covering a face that was moulded for joy and was misunderstood for a face born for combat,
I might slip my fingers into your damp hair,
I might drape my body around yours and melt into your presence.
But I might pretend that I do not know the secret of the enemy,
That your crystal and blue eyes are not simply tokens of aptitude,
That your voice is grainy and tough like we comprehend it to be.
I can spin lies like a spider.
But days of resisting temptation prompt occasional deviance.
******
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YOU ARE READING
A Culmination Of Realities
PoetryAs we float through life, victimized by circumstance and stalked by rumours, we come to understand that false rumours have opposites: realities. These are the realities to which this book is dedicated. These realities share only truth, for some are...
