The last knock was so quiet
Barely she heard the rattle
Out of curiosity she peered outside
Standing there deshevled
Was her long lost prince
Her heart broke, but not her pride
She asked him what he wanted
He asked to be let in
Tired of being used she closed the door
Feeling so awful
And dreadfully sad
She crumbled onto the floor
She was not rich or pretty
Had nothing left to give
But time and energy he always took
Away from her future
Away from her pack
From the outside toxic it looked
She had been drunk on dreams
Had eaten so much potential
But her children were starving and thin
Eventually she woke up
From the trance they called love
And decided no more would she give in
She sent him on his way
Her beautiful prince
And told him to find himself
She focused on happiness
Joy and laughter
Nevermore waiting on the shelf
Time passed as it does
Everything smooth downstream
And again she heard that knock
Not any more
She thought to herself
And ‘that’ door she did lock.
Tag: Point of View
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There was a little snail sitting on a hill
Gazing at the world below her
Such gratitude she felt
At the beauty she could see
She thought nothing could take her off kilter
Until across the shore she saw
Another snail on fire
She panicked and thought to help him
Til she noticed the matches he had in his hand
So stopped did her panic within
How beautifully bright he burned
With all of his despair
His light rivalled the sun
Charred to a crisp
His yelling turned to a whisper
That snail was cooked well done. -
Have I been forgotten already?
Has my memory begun to fade?
Can you no longer remember
The contours of my face?
The sound of my voice
No longer an echo
No touch of my skin
Left on your fingertips
The beating of my heart
No longer with yours in sync
What torture time is
As I fade to ghost
Simply a shadow of myself
Wandering aimlessly lost
Haunting the canals
Wailing in wake
Eternal pain
Diminished state
No longer remembering
The contours of my face
Sin Agua Poetry Blog 