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Thursday, 9 June 2016

Poem: Cesspool of Spell

I love calm surfaces, 
Reflecting the displayed facade, 
Like a play, over life's stage, 
And underneath it all, 
Is a tumultous tornado, spinning, 
Like your blowing hot and cold. 

Tossing me into a cesspool, 
Where the base is a dark abyss, 
Even reflections would not show, 
And the Moon overhead looks on, 
This parody too funny to be tragic; 
Then you tug at my heartstrings. 

The power overwhelms at time, 
Jolting from head to toes, tingling; 
Overflowing, and other days it dies, 
On me - silent, cold and unfamiliar, 
We become intertwined strangers, 
Trying to break through this spell. 

Copyright © 2016 thearcticstar

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