Tonight I'll murder you the literate way
riding a sword of words,
rebelling with foreign metaphors and similes,
perhaps I move on through a poem
that you will never read, nor understand
if you ever did.
To untie the ropes and unleash the gates
that I've built around me, I start by
painting you like a dying light
that fades before me,
or perhaps I will color you with white;
invisible to the eye,
perchance then I never care, never care again.
Or describe you like a weeping willow
or a mourning robin, a yellow forest
or a falling sun...
A failing storm, or a disabled wave,
or the perfect sunset, ever been delayed?
or by writing how you've become,
the best enemy you've ever made.
The shadows you have cast here are shimmering in my mind
seldom on my journey could I ever hope to find
such teardrops of a spirit, mixed with sweat and blood
where ghosts from time invade the mind and verify these words.
I have been touched by the truth of this poem and the last stanza in particular, cuts through the usual excuses and apologies like a knife. Bravo so insightful.