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The slow burn of hate
accumulates
over the passing years.
Injustices catalogued,
tattooed within her being.
Treason
for no god-damn reason.
Provoked
she became slayer, perpetrator
conjuring evil, Stoked.
He revolted her Soul,
once lover, turned Traitor.
Even sweetness turns rancid
in the unforgiving wrath of time.
Once, blossoming hybrids
merged upon life's vine
but tangled roots cannot unravel
with growth's intertwine.
Grew together, then grew apart,
it had ran its course in nature's incline.
Stinging thorns and piercing shards
another poisoned stake
lodged in her heart.
Stunted growth; swamped
within sprawling limbs and tendrils...
Love is like oxygen; intrinsical,
Hate suffocates every ventricle.
The familiar deadwood of repetition,
the art of 'stone-walled' Silence
Something had to give...
Red volcanic lava flowing, Violent.
Consumed by every unjustified reason
for your bleeding treason.
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marci
I grew up hating poetry, might try and learn it now.
Yeah, why not? I've never studied it to be honest. Just mainly write free style. I've done the odd rhyming one in the past; but that's the good thing about poetry, it's subjective and anything goes! It's finding something you feel passionate about :)
by Clara; ; Report
Writing, storytelling to be exact, is that for me. poetry was just forced down my throat in school. I could never really get the hang of it because I treated it like a chore and it was below me, now I truly wish I learned it, but I do like to think my writing is pretty poetic itself.
by marci; ; Report
Yeah, there's nothing like having it forced down your throat/mandatory for you to rebel against it. You say you regret it but it's never too late to learn, or just purge from the heart/soul and let it flow naturally - on your own terms :)
by Clara; ; Report