- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Shibboleth
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Click hereI never hear you speak
of how it all went downhill
after the wall anymore,
how everything made sense
when enemies were enemies,
and you knew the hand
stabbing you in the back.
As if there was an age
of chivalry, just a duck hunt
season ago. As if a hat and coat,
or cloak and dagger, was the
mark of Abel, and anything else
the stigma of Cain.
I never hear you speak
like that, you sink broken
flesh into the swallowing mud
of your too comfortable chair,
and snarls have been translated
into sighs.
For better or for worse
is all just semantics, rocks
or hard places, Hell or Hades,
but the fact remains,
I never hear you speak
anymore.
- COMMENTS
LeBrozabout 18 years agoSnarls into sighs,
Speaking little and saying less;
Domestic bliss can be so unnerving.
Maria2394about 18 years agobut I always enjoy your work. Could it be that silence is the worst enemy of all?
Anonymousabout 18 years agoOh for another Cold War. We need an enemy! I liked this enough for five big ones. The best of the day.
Tess
