Their eyes sparkle with deliberation,
when they feign attention.
Their brow tips with hope,
when they reaffirm their strife.
in them,
A throng of wanton conflicts
And wonderment is left morose.
They wish,
you would know what they seek.
Belief ends,
where they see.
They know,
what you meant.
But what you did,
they felt.
Stone them,
and they evade shelter.
Then you think they need you,
fetid paradox, you are their broken.
noble women.
trouble is you.
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4 comments:
lovely words...nicely crafted lines!
Thank you! It means a lot.
such an artificer you are..
Now you're embarrassing me! Thanks a lot for the comment though.
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