Hour 17

Through the toil
My heart was tired
From all the spoil
A torment of hate
Was what he made my fate

Ripping into the emotions
Of his lover
Never seem to bother him at all
His torture was like silk to him
Yet her eyes throbbed with pain

See the tears as they run down her face like the dew running down leaves
Scattered in distress
She cling to the one thing she
Felt was love , her poetry

Gasping for fresh air from emotional pain
She took to pen and paper
Creating an atmosphere of pleasure
Which kept her through the displeasure.
Hope in words keep her sanity.

copyright 2016 Roxann A Harvey

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