The Ghosting Love
Those eyes of startling glare,
the pupil looks at me, the wide and narrowly looking;
I swallow hard, yet I think,
dripping off of your eyelids,
the blood looks like coming out of a beautiful fountain.
Your hands do I find to hold,
for I could not see them on you;
then on walls did I find their shadows.
So, I come to kiss the wall;
the shadows are gone, and blood comes, dripping off.
Then came to me a thought
that I kiss the very blood that came of you.
Might my lips look so beautiful as yours?
But the blood vanished also.
You are confusing me a lot.
A door to door you walk;
your stepping echoes, and I heard.
Then door to door I walked;
behind you I am always left off.
Where are you going, and
where have been your legs lost?
On bed do I rest,
for I have been searching you a lot.
Then the throttling I felt,
that I knew you are trying to hold of me.
Then why cannot it be completely,
rather than suffocating a little?
Why holding to the bedsheet?
These scars on it rather than on my body.
Shall you not scare me more?
Then for why have you scared me so little?
What be the trouble,
for I am exempted from the scars from you?
Then let me put down the crucifix from my neck,
so the blood of Christ should not stop you
from showering me with your blood.
Now Christ shall not be able
to make a distinction between me and you.
Then, will it not be beautiful?
A ghost of wings,
floating above,
out from my reach,
you are a majesty!
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
