In the wilderness 

of the soul

lies the most beautiful

poetry, never written

 

 

It wasn't so simple

nothing short of a reward

the invaluable cost of closure

the necessity of moving on

​

lofty debate with a stoic heart

delusional thoughts, sad songs

disenchanted with rolling tears

finally freed of tainted love 

 

 

With hands eager to adjust her perception,

grown weary of spineless aggression 

​

tireless the provocation

she falls sullen, sudden into formation

​

a patronizing pat,

turns narcissistic stroke

water's trickle,a tickled ego stoked

​

like clacking castanets at a flamenco dance

often indescribable

this dastardly indiscernible act