Poetry

Ballad of the Ballpeen Hammer

Crystalline
Pure white snow
Inert, wounded
Her shape stains
The landscape
Red
Reaching for a kiss
Hands acting on
Their own
I know not what
They do

 A passion forgotten
A pain remembered
So many sonnets
Of a true love
Not so true
Glinting in the
Moonlight, a cold
Shadow of Death
Descends,
Again and again
To fulfill it's
Destiny

 She loved flowers
And I loved her 

 

 


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