Wither

July 11, 2011
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When the fog is too thick
to see what tomorrow holds for us,
do we endure this frustration,
or fall victim to our lust?

Do we wish to keep a friend,
or with a start bring an end?
If I kissed, would it offend,
and our friendship, would it mend?


If I whispered “I want you now”,
would you nod, and would you bow?
On my bed would you law down,
so I may hear how the Angels sound?

And when it’s over, would you smile,
or be disgraced with what you’ve done?
Would you embrace, and stay a while,
or say the end has now begun?

Would you cry? Would you scream,
if I struck your pretty face,
And the blood dripping from it,
was a metaphor of your grace?

Now, the fog has cleared;
I can see what lies ahead.
A lonely old shipwreck,
withered, and dead.





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