Innocent

1 Comments

Innocent

Sharp pointed painted finger nail
Cutting across a look of disgust
Rust; the colour of your eyes
Dead and conceited. my aura, defeated
Words in my head can't be repeated
I leave

Tongue twisted, actions resisted...
Suitcase of memories, filled with ease
Ready to be cast away to fate
Missed the bus, too late
Stranded at the gate, in the terminal
It's terminal

Tender touch cuts with ease
Blood congeals
Violent whispers, heated shivers
Fiery arrows in your quiver
Ready to pierce my liver
My innocence

Write to me, in your diary
Things you never said to me
Then kill me swiftly
You make me nervous
And i'm innocent

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graceladymn commented on Innocent

09-26-2009

Difficult to tell in this poem who and what your writing of. But, is clear on the picture of one who accuses and how it feels to be accused, I think we've all been there wrongly accused. The poem gives one trouble in responding because, its vague on details. And if it is true that your innocent of what your being accused of it would make sense to talk directly with the person who is accusing you rather than make a general statement hoping someone can pick up cues that might be missed. Confusion is coming through, let me know if you find a way to be clearer, I'd be glad to re-read and re-rate it.

Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.

maz373’s Poems (4)

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