... poetry ...

She. Not Me.

She’s.  Not me.  Thankfully.

Her ways, dark as night

and twice as enchanting.

Her eyes shine with fire.

The sadness kept therein

would sober the loosest charlatan.

In her secret box, she keeps a

lock of hair.  Our youngest put it there.

She is not here, but she is.  Lost only

to the light we share.  She is mine.

When she lets me have her.  She, like

Him, gives her life to those she loves.

It is hers to give, and hers alone.

Would I find myself in that company,

of those fair enough to receive, then

I would find myself in the only home

I know.  She rages with the wind and

rain, and seals up her pain with an

elegance that only she can reveal.

Her ways, dark as night

and twice as enchanting.

She.

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s