Storm Of My Grief
© Surazeus
2018 02 06
Hand grips the door of my house where I lost
key of happiness when woman I love
was hit by a truck while riding her bike
so she vanished from the dream of my life
but still wanders empty rooms of our home,
ghost who whispers before I turn around.
I crawl like a spider in web of fear
my sorrow weaves in veil of hopeless lust
to break from coffin of my rotting skull
and soar with angels in the shiny church
whose promises that she is now in heaven
stab my heart with their delusional lies.
I still like to walk in the city park
where we met one Sunday twelve years ago
and talked about flowers on the park bench
yet when I sit there now it seems as if
she is still alive, so I close my eyes
and pretend she now holds my hand and smiles.
My mute grief twists my heart like roots of trees
that clutch desperately at the spinning world
and hope its reckless centrifugal force
does not dislodge me from reality,
because I feel I float out of my body
when I walk among living mannequins.
I hide my soul behind my faceless mask
so no one can see hurricane of rage
that blows my mind at memory of her kiss
which flashes lightning through rain of my tears
since storm of my grief seems fake to your eyes,
as I stand frozen behind the locked door.
© Surazeus
2018 02 06
Hand grips the door of my house where I lost
key of happiness when woman I love
was hit by a truck while riding her bike
so she vanished from the dream of my life
but still wanders empty rooms of our home,
ghost who whispers before I turn around.
I crawl like a spider in web of fear
my sorrow weaves in veil of hopeless lust
to break from coffin of my rotting skull
and soar with angels in the shiny church
whose promises that she is now in heaven
stab my heart with their delusional lies.
I still like to walk in the city park
where we met one Sunday twelve years ago
and talked about flowers on the park bench
yet when I sit there now it seems as if
she is still alive, so I close my eyes
and pretend she now holds my hand and smiles.
My mute grief twists my heart like roots of trees
that clutch desperately at the spinning world
and hope its reckless centrifugal force
does not dislodge me from reality,
because I feel I float out of my body
when I walk among living mannequins.
I hide my soul behind my faceless mask
so no one can see hurricane of rage
that blows my mind at memory of her kiss
which flashes lightning through rain of my tears
since storm of my grief seems fake to your eyes,
as I stand frozen behind the locked door.
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