Thorn
I am here to catch your words before they die.
Reciprocating and recycling emotions
crawling, without fuss toward my heart's chamber.
Locked, without comotion, for the remainder of time.
You are my light borrower. You wear the cast-off
from the moon with pride. Illuminating trenches
deep within the soul - so full of holes,
that it cannot fail to hide.
I lay down before your every word.
I agree, before your lies have spilled
from cracked lips, like poisonous herds
from Hell - escaped; eternally on the run.
You devour my will. I offer it freely on a plate
slaughtered and garnished with affection.
Your beauty commands, like the harshness of nature,
obedience, apologies - an ongoing resurrection.
I die to escape you. I am the seed falling to be re-born.
You - the stem from which I pull,
petals ripping like fabric - screeching in the air
the deed is done. You were my enchanter: You are my thorn.
Copyright © Phil Naylor | Year Posted 2012
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