Such a fragile fruit, ripe in the arrogance of youth sickly and so easily bruised Spoiled to the core of a bitter existence empty, hiding the sour stink of gooey soft rot with fragrant flower; the allure of the sweet smelling rose masking decomposition within shiny shell Haunted by the ghostly knots of your own…
Drifter
from a darkened past into an even darker future and the days once moving way too slow now moving much too fast and I cannot stop to catch my breath, cannot pull it back from the approaching claws of death ©Debbie Berk 2016 debbieberk.com
I love the storms
how they remind me of you the way you loved with such passionate fury, your dedicated destruction, your comforting calm as the wind in your wings grew weary and you lay breathless where new seeds planted you and you were rooted there in the promising dreams that kept you for a time distant the thunder…
From the Grave
and through eyes of cobwebbed neglect the ghost of you watching and with shadowy limbs reaching from the mist of silent whispers falling from the voiceless parting of rotting lips, cold and spider bite kissed forever hushed by the worm eaten words I will not miss nor will I mourn their death in the silences…
