zeus911 Poetry (6)

She sits, she cries, she bleeds.
A knife in hand, her one true friend,
a special bond as hard as steel.

Outside, birds sing without a care;
a song too bright for impending night
of heartless fathers who rape their kin.

She stares at marks that line her arm;
ripples of shame from distant pain,
that fresh blood attempts to hide.

The sun still shines, trees still green,
as if to scorn those left forlorn
from mothers who walked away.

Tears fail eyes but blood still seeps
in pools of red; all words unsaid
to a cold uncaring world.

No lovers kiss as evening fades;
no heart to share, just flesh to bare
to keep a would-be friend.

She lies at rest, she feels relief
as blood congeals on wounds that heal,
but inner pains remain.

It was just the other day
when thoughts of you floated
across troubled waters
as I walked along forlorn cliff
of life’s forced solitude.

I stood and braved
ocean breeze
waiting for salty drops
to reach scorched lips
of unspoken dreams.

I closed my eyes,
we were there
at the water’s edge
making love on wet sands
of times wasted away.

I bent down to pick
a browned dry leaf
and felt your touch
as fingers entwined
in intricate deceptions.

But a sudden gust
caught me unprepared
and it flew away
across the watery depths
of silly misunderstandings.

And there I stood
deprived of sweet caress
while you faded away
towards a distant horizon,
longing for brighter dawn.

What if not poetry
is the language of love?
Yet when our passion
reaches the end of the line,
We just feel the pain;
hardly ever the rhyme!

The churches mourn as their bells they sound,
prayers raised on the blood soiled ground.
I hold back a tear that I try to hide,
as I look at a child that plays outside.
What of the tomorrow that we offer him,
when the seeds of hate are sown within?

And yet even now as I ponder why,
iron eagles proudly take to the sky.
And far away in a distant land,
another child plays in the sand;
The desert dew wets a dead man's face
we pray the sands cover our disgrace..

To long escape beneath mysterious waves
where watery sounds engulf, keep out.
Fluid hands caress fleshly senses
touching, feeling, encapsulating,

drawing in life it would but take.
In wingless flight through ocean's sky,
odd shaped birds swarm oblivious
to intruding limbs, circling, dancing.

Waves of music flow softly, playfully,
colors draw, attract.
Shimmering hues, shadows, twist
flow. Murky fingers green, long,

reach to touch,
possess, take hold.
Bubbles escape, expand, tingle,
tease muted cries that reach for high

glittering diamonds way above,
but depths, darkness,
beckons, draws. Cold, silence,
peace in Poseidon's realm.

I'm cutting words today;
I hack and cut,
liberate them
from old rhymed phrases.

They fall and fill
my blank
white
page.

I shift them around,
finding new
meanings.

Is this why they call
it free-verse?