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White Wing
Wings of fear flutter nightly in my heart,
a terror-taunt haunt that whittles my thought;
the brutish fist bruise-blackening heart-art -
my past-smashed man, wars in your head thought-fought.
The confidence you chip and slow-whittle;
brittle wing-white bone china hurled to smash;
a daily rage rampage to belittle -
sobbed scream-spittle, word-slap, jaw-smack, door crash.
Storm clouds of bruises gathering on skin;
a slow-strangle noose of words that slow-kill,
the red pain-petals falling in slow-spin.
But I loved you then and I love you still...
Forgiveness sings to your acid-word sting
and brushes your soul with a dove's white wing.
*Contemporary sonnet
Copyright ©
Charlotte Puddifoot
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