This Little Death

Trust dies.

This Little Death

I gag upon the brittle bones of deception

which are so hard to swallow

when one offers the earth

without preconditions.

They disintegrate as one chews

upon their fleshless fragments

and lodge in the windpipe of trust.

Sharp shards of hurting

that pierce fragile flesh

and cause the early mortality

of a hopelessly romantic heart.

 

19/04/15

Reviews

[ANTO]

Very eloquent John - not a word overemployed here. Truly exquisite dear Poet.
:)

[John Alexander McFadyen]

You indeed indulge me dear Sir! Cheers Anto!