From your hate driven position
you project barbed arrows.
The tip dipped in poisened words
that peirce skin and burn deep
paralysed I make moves to remove
the hate, to reason your action
and justify your means. Delerious
with shock I rive inside watching
as you storm off victorious, only
your once trusted perfume remains.
Slowly I strain to disengage the
darts of spite, some snap and a
little of their venom remains travelling
through veins harrasing the heart.
I limp to my shelter spinning in anger
sharpening my words, awaiting your return.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The sorrow in this is almost tangible. I gave it a 10.