Dedicated to all those devious people who usurp the temple of love with lies.
There is "no trespassing" for your kind.
Somewhere in this soul of discontent
There's a spot left ajar with love's faint lament
This drone if you will of emotions gone cold
With the ring of a bell from this spirit on hold
If wishes were worth it and the answers had truth
Then the crux of the matter would turn black with it's hue
When the posers now silent... unspoken but fed
By gestures in silence given with dread
Is the crux of the matter like quick games of chess
Just words to check passions with lust left a mess
Or the whispers of love that opened the gates
For the victor whose words ring forever checkmate
One has to believe or just lay down to die
For the soul never gives up it's eye to the sky
So to speak but forgive me but never to dread
The words that experience so often have lead
For a bride of love's passion as jealous winds blow
For the words of a suitor whose words never showed
Quite the meaning of love or just what was meant
On this eve of regression and masked discontent.
Dear Susan, you have expressed yourself well in this meaningful piece. I'd like to believe that everything happens for a reason, be it something good or that hurts, it would still serve the purpose of strengthening our inner selves for lifes twists and turns. Well done! Peace and love in Christ.
Its hue is darker, but so true. I've often wondered why women succumbed to the clever lies of predators, but ignored the purity of honest young guys. No danger, no desire?
An aching ballad, Belle. For some reason, I can hear Bob Dylan speaking this... or singing... I am never quite sure with him which is which... but it has the same hard-hitting effect, the way it continues to unfold from line to line. This is a tale that never ceases to be told, but you have done so uniquely. xx
Hmmm, we are kinda on the same wavelength.
Could love be natures trick. Without it we would not propagate. Then we see the trick that took us away from everything we really loved.
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on February 28, 2010
Love and utterance of such is a two-edged sword, agitated by the forked tongue of vile assault of the lovers camp.
In the Whirlwind is a poetic storm that frees history from the cages of corruption and puts it in the hands of everyday people. Words are weaved into a new fashion statement that has nothing to do with runways but everything to do with projects!
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Sheri
Honest writing at it's best
Pierre
Ron
John
Flows like a river, and it sounds
wonderful spoken aloud. enjoyed this
a lot. Blessings to you ... r
Anna
Could love be natures trick. Without it we would not propagate. Then we see the trick that took us away from everything we really loved.