You dropped the F bomb on him.
The money is gone and the rigor mortis
of poverty sets in….your life was his.
He has always been your provider; always
the consoler and the strong dominate male
who stuck out his chest, with his chin high,
telling the world what part of your combined anatomy
they could kiss. But now that the protective 'force field'
has been penetrated by an unfortunate series
of circumstances beyond even his control;
you finally see him as we all are.... and it is your decision,
not his to determine the degree to which you love.
2008 © TS
Ouch. This suggests that love is a choice though, based on a reaction to assessment of circumstances... i do hope not....? t x
sheridan my friend, you are getting better and better with every write, and not that i did not think your writing was really good back in june or july, but truly, i see amazing improvements, if only you had the trumpet flowers i boil, then they would dig up keats and corso to bury you, to the bottom of nothingnes my friend
'Please proceed to the under ground bunker directly over your head...' Lol Has anybody dropped a bomb? It can't be that bad... This is all about being honest and telling someone what hurts you most... Nobody's perfect and that's why broken things can be fixed...if both sides want to compromise...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I kind of agree with Gregory - you are indeed homing in on a style which is singular. The irony here is true temper steel! . Rgds, Ivan