The Tempest In Your Heart
O daughter of thunder, slayer of dragons (and of men's hearts), why do you hurt me so? For which sin must I reside in this purgatory of despair, this abyss which allows me no peace nor ray of hope? If I were to serenade you with a sorrowful song might I be forgiven, or would your spite remain? Like an inferno that ravages a man's flesh and scatters his ashes to the four winds, the heat of your wrath torments me to no end.
Remember, please, the days of old when trust informed our friendship and lush lyrical gardens were ours to frolic about and delight in. I pine for your touch, your gentle stroke upon my brow, the tender poesy whispered in my ear that brought me to my knees, weeping. This solitude is worse than enduring a hundred hells. If I were to fly across the sea to where you are, would you still forsake me? How I abhor this isolation, this insanity which haunts me in my dreams. I call but you do not answer, your silence more deafening than the horn of battle.
I beg you, end this pain. Let us enjoy sweet society once more. Sing to me a lilting lullaby, bring my troubled spirit peace. O daughter of thunder, speak poetic words of comfort and I shall welcome you back with open arms...
or will this wicked tempest in your heart last for all eternity?
*image not mine
Copyright © Tom Woody | Year Posted 2024
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