Book of Skin

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Book of Skin

This wallpaper is dying 
never having seen the sun 
light crucifies all dark 

This life has stained my ears 
stolen my sight from seeing 
I am a house without a heart 

Beyond all sins 
Dark red rivers I swim 
for sanity is knocking at my door 

From these pores, I seek 
A truth that now has spoken 
Etched in the gallop of stolen time 

In the garden of discontent 
The lilies have withered 
stigma of scent 

Falls upon me 
You are a book of skin 
You are a book of history 

Sometimes I thought I could read you 
When I skipped a page etched too deeply 
In the echo of your memory 

I spoke , once too often 
I spoke, once too late 

I am a book of skin 

I am a book of history 
Now read me not 
No more... 

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Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

kornelia’s Poems (6)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Anatomy of Love 0
Icarus 0
Questionnaire of blankness 0
Journey of the Heart 0
The Nautic art of letting go 0
Book of Skin 0

kornelia’s Friends (1)