Repertoire of Forgettings
Thoughts at the cusp of my breathe
begin and end with the ease of no darkness
but the gaze that only were to seethe
and pull away the warmth that I once harnessed
There was no crimson, or yerning
no signs of ill, but silence being softer still
no form of fracture could be seen burning
and the passion died with nothing, not even a shrill
though 'twas there; being deepened elsewhere
lies being spoken; promises broken
Passion built upon dead feeling
In love mending their hearts bleeding
She was from me, and he from his
removed from tortured ceilings
they envelope themselves with remiss
discarding what was for what will be
Leaving me stowing guilted feelings
With memories I'm ashamed of like dark dealings...
Copyright © Xander Manuel | Year Posted 2017
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