Love hangs in the balance,
of an everlasting truce.
Love hangs in the balance,
of an everlasting truce.
I could have loved you,
but you didn’t see the magnitude of my request.
You were not able to feel the weight
pressed into every word
scribbled, on tear stained paper.
I would have loved you,
if, after careful consideration
you’d told me,
it was too much – I was too much.
You just couldn’t comprehend the change,
not just of lovers, but whole lives too.
Perhaps, being apprehensive, you were scared,
unsure of your feelings, where they lay,
and who with.
I could have loved you
for wanting time to contemplate.
I could have forgiven you,
of being unaware of loaded pressure,
for not sharing the burden
of the ticking bomb I held in the dark.
I would have forgiven you
for not understanding my clumsy plea.
Not seeing through the flimsy charade of subtext
that was so easily dismissed.
I accept this fault as my own
I would have loved you
with your words recanted.
After nights of indecision,
If your voice had only offered emotion
rather than indifference.
I could have loved you.
Even after the painful walk home,
of shame, of sadness, of anger.
Devoid of affection,
But when days and nights pass
into weeks, then months,
and eventually she leaves you
for another man, another baby.
If after all avenues have been scoured,
options weighed up,
and my offer of love is recalled
from the depths of its ashes.
When you want me to love you
and wonder where the fire has gone.
I could have loved you completely
Only the timing was wrong.
It was the flick of your wrist as we sat,
opposite – leaning towards one another,
streamlined pine nestled between.
A barrier to some – but not us.
It was the slight halt of your step,
your elbow nudging the air:
where my arm was too slow,
to slip, into the crevice of your coat.
It was the look in your eyes,
slowly rolling up (like a pup)
on moving stairs and ramps.
And oh –
how I craved your caress.
It was the downward turn of your lips,
as I uttered my goodbyes.
That lingering hug, tinged with sadness.
Those mumbled words, I never heard.
It was the perplexed face,
harbouring worries of my welfare
whilst hurrying through stations and streets;
the helping hand when I stumbled.
It was the pillowed arm or chest,
that warmed my cheek at night
The blanket of you – surrounding.
Protection from the morning chill
It was the loss of these actions
and more, that instant regret
after proclaiming you were needy.
It was my loss – My need for you.
I watch from my window, as you prepare to leave me. The streetlight
illuminates you in a hazy orange gloom, as you banish frost from your windscreen
My window, smirched from warm breath saves me from seeing that look you wear
Fumbling with your keys whilst you wrestle with your overnight bag
Your Caribbean blue charger snorts impatiently at the charade.
I press my hand against the cold glass; you wave goodbye.
You trespass, on the edge of my borders
Tiptoe through the barricades
And hover at the frame
After patting down the dirt
Covering your tracks
In fear of being discovered
I find you, alarmed
A hare, dazed in the headlights
Frozen, but for the consistent twitch
In the distance sirens wail out a warning
The gate gapes wide in the wind
Yet still we persist
In that moment existence is shattered
I welcome the oncoming storm.
She went to a dark place.
She went there alone.
To hide beneath the dusty shores, wade through murky undergrowth and delve into the icy lakes of solitude. She went there alone. Wrapped herself in a heavy tarpaulin of sunbleached skin, worn with age yet heavy enough to secure her down, in the pools, of despair , that she found – alone.
After trawling through the deserts of time, her hand outstretched for aid, that was never found. No water of rejuvenation trickled through her salt cracked lips, her weary bones found no comfort in the angles of the rocks of contemplation. After a time, she learned to counter the winds of fortune, turn away from the blasts: her spine bare for the impact.
If you look to the marks on the soles of her feet , blackened by ashes, solidified by infliction: know that these are not the marks of her failure, but reminders of her strength. Mottled with scars of endurance: she is a marked woman yet not beaten.
She does not submit, she will not yield.
She went to a dark place
She was alone.
It lay, soft and forlorn
Pressed tight against her leg
Breath held as she tried to ignore
They sat, squashed,
sweating onto her thigh
The clammy warmth unsettling
The prevented tense, became a shuffle
A grimace in the dark, as she turned
Their awkward alliance brushed aside
Pulled apart in silence
Left, to not discuss another day.
A soul telling your mind what your heart bleeds for.
They exist. I can taste it.
she writes stuff sometimes.
Text in ya face
Live Your Philosophies
oder auch "Die Bea schreibt" *** expect nothing... not even the unexpected *** erwartet nichts... noch nicht mal das unerwartete
A writing blog by H.R.R. Gorman
Songs of Sirens and Stars
Musings of the aspiring author, EM Goldsmith
The musings left behind by my mind...
Short Stories - Mostly dark ones!
Hoping to inspire the world one word at a time.
He started Writing, The paper started speaking...
I CAN'T CONTROL EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE, BUT I CAN CONTROL WHAT I PUT IN MY BODY.😎🍓🍍🍇🍑🍐🍉🍈🍏🍊🍋🍅🍎🍌🍠🍢🍥
The blog is dedicated to the people which care about their goals, dreams , actions including the ones that have paused , slow down or even stopped moving forward.
Writing About Life
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Random Blether Spilling From my Brain
Kinky, pansensual, switchy, femme, trying to breathe
Wise, older woman is the most powerful brand females come in.
A blog about Midlife, Travel, Adventure - and all things in between
stories of mental health
This & That Including What Ails
Poems, Haiku, Paintings & Photographs
Creativity Is The Key
Welkom op de blog van Discobar Bizar. Druk gerust wat op de andere knoppen ook, of lees het aangrijpende verhaal van Harry nu je hier bent. Welcome to the Discobar Bizar blog, feel free to push some of the other buttons, or to read the gripping story of Harry whilst you are here!
Poems, Literature, Articles, Musings & Quotes Collection - By Vishal Dutia
Make Some History
Life , death and everything in between
Let me finger you to your dreams...
World writers community
"The work will teach you how to do it." - "Le travail va vous apprendre à le faire." 09-23-18 ..... I am temporarily on hiatus, attending to matters of health and well being. I will return as soon as possible.
Carper Diem; Its my peculiarity.
Expressions of Poetry
Poetry from Walsall Poetry Society Chairman and Black Country poet Richard Archer since 2011
We struggle, we win