Her Love Is Patient

Surfing a mind obstructed with Cupid's arrow was like bleeding a river that flowed upwards, towards an angry volcano having nightmares. A volatile internal rumble craving relief, only in eruption. Such was his fury with the thought of her very existence. Just as braving the flow of molten rock was like telling the Tide to stay high, so was he, Cupid's bow, on the run trampling on a pool of teardrops while craving an ocean to drown. A rage surpassing the passion of hate permeating that realm of throbbing pain caused by a guilt scourging his very being. As Cupid's poison in a delirious mind denoted, the only cure was the total deletion of the betrayed. To her, hate or any emotion was better than none. He could do no wrong, for it was Cupid with his poisoned arrow who shot her handsome dove. Their love was borne out of the belly of the earth, delivered by the demons of the underworld. She had tasted its fury and was scorched by its flames. Such, could not be touched by a misguided arrow. Betrayal was his but a mighty weapon she had. Forgiveness might be divine but her love was patient. He would be delivered from Cupid's poison only, by the very knowledge of her perpetual existence. T M Ioane.