Below is the poem entitled Requiem which was written by poet
Loveless. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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Call me not a child,
Treat me with adult words,
Eyes that scan the essence,
And see the centuries I have lived.
Ancient soul though young flesh,
Half my heart remains in an older existence.
I wish to feel the gentle,
The tenderness that comes with love,
Finger tips soft and feather like.
I yearn to feel the rough,
The firm grip of a lover,
Hands grasping hips in a fury of need.
Lips rubbing together in absence of a kiss.
I need to speak of higher things,
realms that others fear to not believe,
And visions that we both have seen.
Lie with me in clover beds,
Stars sparkling bright above our heads,
Birds swooping to deliver prey to young,
Eyes filled with awe at the world's cruel beauty.
Lie with me in open thought,
Minds roaming over hills and sea,
Connecting to the world.
Releasing raw unadulterated energy,
Through just a simple touch,
Conscious spreading to the sky,
To flit like hummingbirds.
Call me not a child,
For the things I have seen,
The memories I hold within,
Through one life to the next.
Falling, falling, down to the sea,
Bright sky, rolling green,
sharp waves black, crash against the rocks,
Awaiting our meeting of fatality.
Flowers high in weeds,
Grow up to itchy gowns,
And crunch beneath slipper-ed feet.
Corsets pulled tight,
Tight enough that I forget to breathe,
When in the presence of a man.
Blame the corset for my lack of breathe,
Though he steal it from my honeyed lips,
With not even a brushing kiss.
And a wedding band surprised,
Beneath a weeping willow,
With barely family enough to witness the event.
Four wheeled Slow rolling machine,
In comparison to today's technologies,
To ride a get away in sun lit heat.
Black with shinning seats and room for four,
Or even five if they would squeeze.
Two women, a daughter and a son,
A life of running, identity hidden,
Bolstered weapons for protection,
And an unending flow of cash.
Life seemed easy - at least when not being shot at.
So call me not a child,
For I have seen many years,
Felt the touch of lovers hands,
The cool of friends tears,
Felt the crashing waves,
As another life came to an end,
Spoke of many things,
And made otherworldly friends.
Kiss my lips with fierceness,
When I have yet again died,
I fear not the otherworldly,
So tell them not to cry.