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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Feel my curling vines surround this unyielding fence For years they have been tightly gripped against your rust Above us, a darkened raincloud, Threatening lightning and stinging sorrows… Though instead of indifference, I feel the aftermath of your thunder That back-staged happiness, when we are no longer pretending And I hear your prolonged exhalation behind me… It teases me…my heart pumping wildly in tragic suspense The curtains tightly drawn—the crowd suddenly gone… You replace your jovial shine with a grimace A wisp of cold wind, the only real sign that you have passed me by Long passed me by… I avert my eyes to the light of a window, no longer wishing to cry No longer wanting to suspend and obsess To fall in love, so in love With this eternal-faced doubt and melancholy I turn into your embrace…and yet… It really is not an embrace at all An ashamed unification, if anything… A pain to look upon.. a drafty and disdainful view As if my existence upon yours is your lethal trepidation I rest my eyes away from you now And I feel the grip of my vines… I feel how tightly they hold you… I smell the fragrance of my monomaniac squeeze And I feel the grip of my vines….. loosen… Averting my eyes entirely, I lean into another soul to let you go Though your thunder often rumbles my way… And your lightning clashes and crushes me The happiness in your eyes shriveling my thorns of defense Knowing that my absence has caused this…relief… And suddenly…the thought of this other wisps through… Such a strange choice of soul to fixate on… Yet there you are—yet you were always there… Engraving life into my ever-bleeding stalks Try not to get too close, my friend… I refuse to strangle you too… You will be the last where the gloomy clouds loom You will be the last to take in my degrading scent You will be the last to see me cry You will be the last to pass me by Try not to gaze as my vines surround you… Not quite touching you in fear of what may come next As I rest my eyes…remember… It is in your power to slip right on through When my eyes lift, I shall expect no open curtains These eyes shall never anticipate a complete production My thunder will zoom past you Behind you, and over you And the remnants of earlier sighs… Shall be the winds of your passing by… You will be the last… And the very best is always last Feel my curling vines grip what truly matters… No fence stands between us now. January 14, 2015
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