In the silent din of the night he lurks, a predator in his own right.
He’s jealous of me I know. He seeks what I’m forced to endure with a passion so pure. It shreds my soul apart, the satirical nature of our predicament. Not that I can tell him such, not that I can break through this rut.
For of all the words I’d tell that beautiful beast, none would do any good. I’m trapped inside just as he is exiled. But what words can there be for a beast? One who stares at me hungrily contemplating his next meal… rationing my arms and legs into days of sustenance.
What words can I give a beast; who doesn’t understand me?
It’s best he leave me to my suffering and I to his.
But how can I contemplate such a misgiving against the one creature who could be called my friend.
Cursed am I, to gaze with futile abandon out of this inhibiting cage. Deluded into calling a beast my friend.
My fingers rummage through the thousand stranded task placed upon my head. If only I had the courage to move… to do something…
If only I wasn’t locked inside the bounds of my misery, maybe I could find a way out.
If only I had the courage to take one step into the open, maybe he’d take mercy on my and replace my broken heart.
YOU ARE READING
Heart Of Thorns And Roses
PoetryHe lurks in the dark like a shunned panther. In the day he entrances with mirthless banter. Vicious beauty lies beneath the surface Of a beast whose motives are not unfound. He gazes at me in silent rumination, For I've stolen is one consolation. Hi...
