Lying in a visage of treacherous stride,
Living on bushels of gold, barrels of wine;
Listening to the voices echo down
The empty halls of your heart–
Voices evil, lost, divine.
Through it all, though consumed,
Half-rotted by pride;
What your heart shall say
That you will abide.
I love you:
Though you are still in pain
(from what had been)–
How can I break through the wall
To hold you in my arms again?
© 2021 Shirley Siaton. Please do not take, repost or distribute in any form without express written permission.
Image courtesy of Henry & Co. on Unsplash.
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