Wash with the sea.
Relinquished threats of a rape to slaughter
The mind of secrecy sworn to sublime.
Beaten in self consciousness to many
Events shimmering a fiend of time.
Hung upon this ghastly rope,
I sweat my blood and praise it so.
But within these tears of crimson
The release of tranquil spirit hovers
Below the tangled ropes around my neck.
Pale beaches and high-white clouds,
Praise the lullaby that the wind does howl.
Slowly, the friction burns around my throat
Seeps away with the spit of sea.
Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 1192 times
Written on 2006-05-08 at 23:37
Tags Death  Life  Truth 
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Kathy Lockhart |
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by John Ashleigh Latest textsDesignDylan. In between love. Transcend. Fingertips. My favoritesNightlightPhoenix Seulement One Week from Tomorrow. Betrayed |
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