Posted: October 28, 2011 in Poet; Writer; Author


Residue of rage

Infringed voices swirl a caustic drum

Tunneling through my collapsing veins

On the outside of my body

Other damage significantly done

Streets crack their footing

Lamp lights flicker in tenor drifts

And across a mass escape of lawn,

I feel the puncture beyond emerald green

Grasses swaying in crippled bend

Severed tips of fragile stalks

Join my tears in fractured, limping wind.

Nothing is spared ~ not the sky

Forming nimbus clouds above my hair

As hate sings across the air from your spitting lips

Attempt to dismember my field enchantments

And my love of wild and sea!

Anger was one thing contained within

the vortex of your heart ~

But not when it came alive to devour me . . .

I was never afraid to die . . .

What more cold could I feel

As your embraces have left me,

Corpse-ready, and unfeeling

Being loved by you: a ghost of a man?

For your hands were never gentle,

Nor your passion at its crimson peak ~

How I have bled from your touch that

Was meant to cradle, but instead

Crushed my essence, beyond bland?

Look away, as I fly above, higher and higher,

Soaring summits that call, with little regret

Leaving you forever bereft

You that loved my embers, not my fire,

I feel the puncture beyond emerald green

Grasses that caught me air born and stinging,

And all of me that you threw ~

         What of me was left . . .

~ ~ ~

© Copyright 2011 ♥Susan Joyner-Stumpf

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