Works > POETRY OF FAMILY

Love Story

My soul is death, non-existent,
moving through this world
unaware of the scent of joy.
No smiles wrinkle this face;
it is cold, distant, hidden

My soul is death it still does not exist,
numb to all, untouched by all.
Like a sponge it absorbs the salted water around.
Eyes blind to pretty pink,
and full of black instead

My soul is death forever it seems;
a statue ignored by warmth, wondering

"when will it be my turn?
Maybe now? Was that felt, was it true?"

My soul is death no more.
Relief comes.
Scalpel in hand, surgery cuts deep.
Breath comes through and heals.
Beating starts again.

My soul is death no more.

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