The Thief
I was young when you started stealing from me,
teasing away my freedom, corruptibly.
I despised you as soon as I recognized you,
Like I was born to be repelled by your presence.
And yet you kept returning, like you enjoyed feeding on my innocence,
both nurturing and then destroying my centre of equilibrium, inhibiting
all self confidence until I recognized myself no-longer.
And forever since, just a whiff of your scent, steals more
of that brittle state of mind, until I remember it is no longer you
but versions of your memory, remnants of a shadow-self lurking
manifesting around edges and angles in moments of reprieve.
So keen to destroy everything I took so long to build up,
yet still, I managed to contain a level of decorum around you
enough to know in your twisted forms, you couldn’t have helped yourself.
As simple as a scratch rips a tender sore
I learned to pity your talons tearing through to my bones
whilst you learned your dutiful place at keeping me in a fragile state.
Edging around each scene you created a venomous cage
whose key teases itself further from my grasp
weakening me each time I froze to perform.
I grew to almost admire at your tenacity of never giving up.
Thieving nights away from sleep
I knew enough to know it needed to come to an end
despite the poisonous capacity you fermented in my blood.
The earth weaved her spell so I would meet a reflection of my soul,
vitality reinforced, a love so pure drove me to gladly enter the cave where you dwell,
compelling your release of my grasp so I could finally grow, finally see what I was meant to be, redeemed as my own birthright dignity.
Copyright © Oliver Furlong | Year Posted 2018
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