By: Kristin Militante
For years she held the door open
Waiting for her latent love to awaken
The harsh winds lacerated her skin
Merciless raindrops bruised she and her kin
Primitively she dreamed that he would arrive
Never thinking that with him the devil would connive
Time pierced through her ventricles
She bled in sharp, tiny particles
The trickling of blood caused her grave torment
It was then she knew that it was the moment
A martyr she has been for centuries
Yet waiting bequeathed only pain and unfulfilled fantasies
Now she lets go with no hesitation
From this she finally finds satisfaction
She locks the door
For she wants no more
The key is lost on purpose
and the finder is rightful to propose.
No comments:
Post a Comment