The Sickness of love

2 Comments

The Sickness of love

The wings of the mist rose from the sea

The wind dazzling and cold

The feeling of being free

Whist me away and I was sold

Sold on this place for this would be my home

As I sat, thoughts of you passed through my mind

Your untimely affair was like a syndrome

It sickened me for how could I be so blind

So blind to see that you were the problem

Your face, your pure beauty

You were as modest as a national anthem

I fell in love with you and your personality

That night we spent together out in moonlight

That night was quite a night, quite a night

That year came and passed

The next the same

The third year she found out and was aghast 

She saw you and me together and that night I was to blame

I tried to reason with her

You tried to hide

I sparked her anger

And she saw me standing by your side

She ran in revenge at you

You tried to get her away

She tried to pursue

You both were in dismay

 Grabbed my hunting rifle

I didn’t know

I shot my lover who was loyal

And I shot you down in that condo

I ran in horror

I had lost you two

I did it all with anger

That night I could not undue

I stand here lost and confused

As I looked out to sea and remembering your blood

How it came out flowing and oozed

How this was your fluid

Revenge was served in an unjust manner

And the wings of the mist rose from the sea

I rose up my white banner

And I felt the feeling of being free

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itzamateo commented on The Sickness of love

11-12-2009

nice, Pencatz its very interesting story. amazing out come,, very fascinating. I like your uses of sounds and poetic devices in the way you blend sound s together like consonants and vowels. Your rhyming and rythem is very good too.

kmooney commented on The Sickness of love

10-29-2009

Wow, very vivid and complex. Very imaginative. I like the way it flows. It really tells a frightening story. How a person's anger can get the better of them. I don't like guns. Never know what a person might do with one if they lose control. Good job. Thanks for sharing.... Kevin

The true philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Poet (1803-1882)

PenCatz’s Poems (6)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Death From My Fiddle 2
Three Months to This Day 3
New Friends 3
The Sickness of love 2
The Sickness of love 14
Playing the Cello 5