Sunday, January 18, 2015

Strangled


It was subtle
Less violent than expected
Anger with a velvet glove
Its tightening grip
Sensually smothering
My words dribble
And pool in unformed
Sentences

It was the ferocity
Of his certainty
Frustrated righteousness
Fermented, solidified
Into fanatical rage
That conceded no
Dissention, placidly
Choking difference

My difference
He hated
A pacifist by belief
He had learnt to
Strangle by stealth
Secrecy preferred
To maintain the
Mirage of peace

He’s long gone
The imprint of his hand
Disembodied, phantom like
I still feel, but I have learnt
In the sensuous silence
To write what I cannot speak
The doubting whiteness of the page

Refreshing after fanatical rage

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