Venin

When you lose touch with your inner self and become engrossed with the poisonous wrongdoings.

How incomplete is my silence
Without the stimulation
Of your soft, serene presence
On my sanity and station.

 

Suppressed, like a stolen secret
I sway, searching for support
Holding, on one hand, my spirit
On another, my bleeding heart.

 

Flickering at a sorry span
Shines guidance, calling at me
I seek; in a subtle scan
Its beckoning - half-heartedly.

 

Supposed synonyms look and smile
At striking similitudes
But I sense the shaking spile
In the weakening attitudes.

 

The gardens, the fields; they call out

Afar, the tight rope awaits

Vicious and savage, the flames shout

As I stroke the poisonous bait.

Reviews

[Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere]

The struggle between the heart and the mind. It's a fight that I also have sometimes with all the feelings you describe in your poem. Well done, Dara :)
Rudi

[Dara]

Thank you, Rudi.