deepundergroundpoetry.com
Love Looks like Another Trick of the Devil
You weave such a pretty web
Of silky smooth assurances and grandeur,
Even the most guarded of women's hearts
Would flutter with ever-hopeful anticipation.
Somehow, my addlepated mind could truly believe
You to be a spiritual con man of lethal capability,
Speared perfectly into the soft, tender parts
Of a hardened but young and fragile one like me.
The warrior in me sees you for what you are
And she endlessly rages against the howling wind,
Shrieking that she will rise above these treacherous ways
And find heaven one of these days after all.
A saddened shrivel of a soul pitifully weeps
From behind the walls in my war torn world of fairy tales
And peers with bloodshot eyes from her marooned hiding place,
Aching to feel the ecstasy of desecration at the hand of a lover.
These fragmented pieces of me seem to rattle these walls
As they whirl around me in a vortex of madness
Sounding like screams of a soul lost in limbo
Unable to tell dream from daydream as they come to the light.
For a moment, I believe in the kindness of strangers,
In the surety of impossible lessons already learned,
In the healing power of stubborn love and patience with time,
And the hands of an all powerful Maker who guides me.
You weave such a pretty web
Of the blues dripping songs my soul longs to sing
And the fellowship of all whose love I would find
As we shed the dust collected in the damp darkness of shadows.
Such a harmony is hungered by the many,
But such a boundless love is feared above all else.
We live with clenched fists held high, nostrils flaring,
And hearts tightly bound in bandages like shackles.
A proposition of love is like a declaration of war,
Deadlocked in a struggle of utmost fear and passion.
It is the heat of a stare down before all hell breaks loose,
Where a sneer or a cower could tip the scales to either side.
Who will break first?
Of silky smooth assurances and grandeur,
Even the most guarded of women's hearts
Would flutter with ever-hopeful anticipation.
Somehow, my addlepated mind could truly believe
You to be a spiritual con man of lethal capability,
Speared perfectly into the soft, tender parts
Of a hardened but young and fragile one like me.
The warrior in me sees you for what you are
And she endlessly rages against the howling wind,
Shrieking that she will rise above these treacherous ways
And find heaven one of these days after all.
A saddened shrivel of a soul pitifully weeps
From behind the walls in my war torn world of fairy tales
And peers with bloodshot eyes from her marooned hiding place,
Aching to feel the ecstasy of desecration at the hand of a lover.
These fragmented pieces of me seem to rattle these walls
As they whirl around me in a vortex of madness
Sounding like screams of a soul lost in limbo
Unable to tell dream from daydream as they come to the light.
For a moment, I believe in the kindness of strangers,
In the surety of impossible lessons already learned,
In the healing power of stubborn love and patience with time,
And the hands of an all powerful Maker who guides me.
You weave such a pretty web
Of the blues dripping songs my soul longs to sing
And the fellowship of all whose love I would find
As we shed the dust collected in the damp darkness of shadows.
Such a harmony is hungered by the many,
But such a boundless love is feared above all else.
We live with clenched fists held high, nostrils flaring,
And hearts tightly bound in bandages like shackles.
A proposition of love is like a declaration of war,
Deadlocked in a struggle of utmost fear and passion.
It is the heat of a stare down before all hell breaks loose,
Where a sneer or a cower could tip the scales to either side.
Who will break first?
Published 30th Dec 2021
| Edited 31st Dec 2021
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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30th Dec 2021 7:16pm
