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Esther Palombini Poem
A wayward heart in the wild,
Trying to wield the knife of hope.
Hope for one thing; hope for one friend
The only way to guard her heart
The only way when others have failed
With each fail, adds a slice to her heart
Some are shallow; some are deep
But all are painful, on her soul
For a moment, things were right, things were won
But the tables turned as,
The wielded became the wielder
The cuts on her soul became cuts on her flesh
Some are deep; some are shallow
At first, the knife only tasted some tiny beads of blood
But as time grew, the knife soon feasted
As white flesh turns red
Crimson drops run down the blade
Hope shatters into shards
Those shards embed into flesh
Joining the sliver with the white and red
A friend gained is a friend soon lost
The hunter becomes the hunted
Copyright © Esther Palombini | Year Posted 2018
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Details |
Esther Palombini Poem
I sit and watch those pass by.
Every second, one goes through.
Through what? The gates of death.
All those who go through them,
They are all so very different,
Of every shape, size, and colour.
Some are wrinkled, used up,
They had a long successful life.
Others pass through discoloured,
Alcohol didn't help in the end.
Some came covered in blood.
If they were killed or suicidal,
I will never find that one out.
Several passed by scarred,
They seen much, too much.
A few came smooth and clean,
Their heart couldn't keep up.
Half passed so small, so young,
Coming so early on tiny feet.
Half came through old; grown,
They wished they came early.
Soon, I shall pass through too.
I will have my scars and faults.
I may be young when I come,
Or maybe time will pass me by.
Copyright © Esther Palombini | Year Posted 2018
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