Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Him Jan 2021
I had one wish; one word. Now only in nightmarish dreams, might it be heard.

"You."

That was all; my one entreat of mortal men and God. Though in my wanting of you... I had opposed them all.

Your questioning of my loyalty and our love, were to my heart, colder than the most cruel of December rain, from above.
Perhaps a coat might stop the cold, but it pierces my heart, like an arrow freed from the bow.
Him Jan 2021
I could write a novel, with all these words I didn't say. And, I could hold a concert, with all these screaming voices in my brain.
I could do so much...
Him Jan 2021
A gentle kiss for one longed missed. A white dove from above for dearest beloved. My lady has it been a thousand moons; by God's will, I'll see you soon.

Eyes of that of blue moon, what greater sight than bride to groom? In sickness and in health so shall this be. In poorness and in wealth stay by me.

From the moment this knot is tied, until the day this man has died; I'll be there to wipe your tears; I'll be there to fight your fears; I'll be there to keep you safe; I'll be there to hold you near.

Whether it be day light or eternal night, you should forever be the apple of my sight.
Him Jan 2021
There is no need for noble graces, with you, I have none. Just one entreat, request and command: "Come."

'You' see me for what I truly am, behind this regalia of dignity and honour; hides a ****** man. Now come, and heed my command.
You know me, for what I am; and yet still, you accept this broken man.
Him Jan 2021
I am thinking of all the words that I never got to say; all of the letters and apologies, only published within my brain.
Him Jan 2021
If love had ever had an antidote, then it would be all the words that we never spoke; buried by the linguistic silence of our throats.

Few are the poems that I have wrote, yet the pens might as well be Chinese, that I have broke. Our love was once an eagle's wings, custom made to sing hymns whilst we sinned; like mere children, so impassioned by any and everything - Now love is the yoke, both burdensome and binding.
I am thinking of all the words that I never got to say; all of the letters and apologies, only published within my brain.
Him Jan 2021
I pressed the knife's end against my veins, to see if it might sting the same; as when you call my name.

The blood hasn't spilled yet, yet I'm already drowning in the pain.

Words last forever once said; the past is beyond our reclaim.
Next page