too much of a good thingMature

so much noise, roaring tirade
assails us through our wasted days
waiting for my phone to ring
objective silence deafening
and over years and tears and miles
faded fervour, bleeding dry
promises and hopes and plans
all spent, soiled and ruined, why?
late night talks of leachery
proverb rot: forbidden fruit
no pleasure worth this guilt and hate
crave no more electric touch
skin searing pain of love long lost
and crawling flesh at lines far crossed
dejected text suggests your sorrow
blank silence betrays that lie
gut boiling rage and disappointment
torn sobbing lungs screaming goodbye

 

(18th Feb 2008)

The End

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