How Long How much does a woman bleed? How much does she scream; Until the very center of her Lives inside her tongue A twisted vine of absent time? How often does he leave? Why does the grief feel like the burning of a million suns; The hem of garments So dusty these days; So she just went away. How long does a woman wait? How long to nurse the heartache; Piercing the center of her chest So fiercely; so intensely; She welcomes the loneliness? How long can a woman cry Before her hope dies; Before she stops to realize There is a chorus of White teeth Smiling from soft brown lips Always reminding her of his? Hes a mere ghost Lingering in Whispers To unsuspecting girls. Hes a raging dedication To satiation Found on applications That stay locked beneath code, So the truth cant be told. How many times Can a woman fly the night Lucid dreaming as she is sleeping; Come to rest beside their bedside; He the hunter, She the wife, Sleeping pillows side by side. How long can the tears come in stages, Given to pages; Trying to rearrange it; Make it all void and abstract So the angst cant come back? How long can a love wander, Searching for another, Same gleam; same passion; Same soul trapped inside the ashes, Where lives the bones; Remnants of a childhood gone wrong? Oh, but a woman who loves, She can wait infinitely, Flying through eternities Searching deities and realms Just to come close; Find a derivative To fill the emptiness. There are glass bottles Laced with wine, An empty quiet At supper time, And she is breathing in memories, Calling across the sea, Searching for a familiar shadow Wandering in the trees. Just a glimpse, A slight wince, Left to create rhymes and Splashed color on canvases The language of a heart ravaged. Once, when a girl Entered this world of Quiet storms And raging solitude, They say there was a trumpet In the shape of a man Played by hands Void of body; A captivating illusion, This musical intrusion. And all of life Yielded to the song Until the curtain dropped And the melody was gone. What does a woman do When she loses her music To her wandering muse? How does she release Her fingers from the sting Of what was And what will never be? Now she searches piano benches, Guitar strings And violins Just to hear his voice again; Breathes tree trunks To smell just once more Just once more Until all shes breathing Is him? V.K venniekocsis
Posted on: Mon, 19 May 2014 02:21:13 +0000
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