Wearisome

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Wearisome 

What do you have for me?
Weary, soul’ish side to breathe,
of flesh and bone, I cannot say –
I withered in your arms,
long ago away from pain;
a treasured spot left in memories.

I did not wish to pluck it out,
the memory framed in silver –
my head lay heavy upon your chest;
tears dried on the soles of your shoe,
they walked each day,
ever’ a night with you;
still they sit on the bottom –
of your soul 
stampeding upon my flesh and bone.

What do you have for me?
Anguished, ethereal love,
no more lungs, or tears,
or heart; of shallow stone I am made,
a crumbling sight of ever’ was,
a sick delight to otherwise,
a tasty treat of nevermore.

The delicacy of ravens’ beaks
scar tissue on the craters of the Moon,
a skeleton that leaps in the Sun’s spot –
I am burned-melted-crumbled,
left with all you would have of me;
a delicate bud waiting to bloom.

About mindretrofit8

Sharing the twistings, and musings that twirl in my mind. Hoping others can relate, or at least enjoy... To know more about me personally you can visit my website at Mind Retrofit.
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