crushing vines of scarlet
wind grapes at her heel.
as she scurries along
withing my forest of weeping willows
she escapes the melodious hissing of the snake
perfectly hypocritical voices,
of ridicule and trifle
engulf her fair skin, and petite frame
but the pearl white fangs
do not peirce her soul
i see virtue through his struggle to depose the
sudden paralysis of his body,
every breath, tear, nightly cry
and sign of love,
grants me the serenity,strenth, and most importantly,
the patience to carry upon my back the
abundant burdens that he is numb to-physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
like the blessed one we must put on the specious armor of joy
and trust in our own intellegence so that we
may have treasure on earth.
this woman of beauty and grace
is the solitary survivor of my love
and after i draw my last breath
she will rejoice.
and before she crushes the last vine,
she will lift a grape to her tongue,
and she will taste the fruit of her labor.
Author notes
Written August 22nd, 2005
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Comments
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beautiful darah your writing just gets better and better! i didn't stop being your friend cause you did something wrong i'm simply out growing all these chidish games you like to play beautiful poem though
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this is a graet poem love it sis
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Nice Style
It would make beautiful prose, I think, and I totally love the crying face. You use excellent imagery but I think you should condense it a little to make it more poetic. I was really glad I read this poem, but it could be a tiny bit shorter/ more rhythmic. Overall beautiful
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