a poem untitled

silhouette photography of woman

Photo by Pete Johnson on Pexels.com

 

Play the prelude for me

Cascading strobe of light

On your piano keys

With shadow poetry.

 

Wherever the scenes

And frightening imaginations

Lure me, the light would still flicker on and off for me.

At night when this pen

 

Floats steadily yet too swiftly towards the

Bard’s musical entry

Blushing with goat’s eyes and rose-colored reflections.

 

I want this poetry to fall on puddles

Gathering ripples and the lips of her muse.

 

What kind of a man rejects the truth?

What kind of a man denies his fruits?

Does a man only remember the pleasure and not the promise?

What kind of a man is that?

What kind of man tells you not to live your own life?

What kind of a man blames you for all things that glitter?

What kind of a man takes every scoop?

What kind of a man is that?

What kind of hurt does a man capable of castrating a child, a woman, a mother, a sister?

What kind of a man mistake you for another?

What kind of a man is that?

What kind of a man turns you into a monster, a witch, a demon of yourself?

Full of rage?

What kind of man forces you to please the kind of a man that he is?

What kind of a man questions the kind of a woman you are?

What kind of pain is this? What kind of a man keeps you longing for a poem untitled?

Just what kind of pain is there for a woman who believes

For a woman who shares

For a woman who cares

For a woman who loves

For a woman who dares

For a woman who endures

For a woman who feels

For a woman who weeps

For a woman who keeps

For a woman who feeds

For a woman who prays

For a woman who stays?

What kind of pain must we endure for a poem untitled?

Just what kind of pain this is…

 

 

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