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Dark Poetry #4

Menage a Trois

coyote
Senior Member

since 2001-03-17

Posts 1077

0 posted 2003-11-22 05:16 PM

harsh words
thread through

string and needle
pierce my tongue
to sutured lips

binding pain
with maim

I hold
mute
this speaking

I scream
with eyes
and grip
with nails

dangling
skin and blood
too bruised
for weeping

as you
proudly boast
her love
hath touched
you sleeping

mark your words
in rings of amethyst
or crowns of thorn

for sin is evil sworn
and brings

this love
unto
a place stillborn

"Who knows if to live is to be dead, and to be dead, to live? And we really, it may be, are dead; in fact I once heard sages say that we are now dead,and the body is our tomb. Socrates

[This message has been edited by coyote (11-22-2003 05:17 PM).]