Dull and throbbing,

pain is robbing,

peace  from in my heart,

tearing it apart,


fear has stolen,

eyes are swollen,

none should feel this way,

fetid was the day,


eyes they wander,

as I ponder,

what becomes of me?

cast into the sea?


and I dare begin to wonder,

as it’s torn in twain asunder,

may I find a thornless life?

make for me another wife?


will again I seed the flow,

at this point I just don’t know,

but gathering the flecks like flowers,

emergent from the darkest hours,


I see depth within her eyes,

quite adept on wind she flies,

yet imagined like a doll,

she is not her yet- not at all,


but as I tender precious payment,

she girds up a golden raiment,

not a dress- a pearl- or gown,

kindness is her feather down.









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