Spilled ink – Page 53 – A (wise) man of two faces

Venomous

Anger’s a black bile
which clings to my throat and taints
each and every word.

My heart strings quiver
at the mere sound of your voice
when I arrive home.

Old scabs fall off
not revealing hard scars
but pale flesh, fragile to the touch.
Healed and healing
and growing stronger still.

I met a woman,
the kind you cannot ever
bring home to Mother.

Your love reaches me
like waves breaking upon a stone –
you wear down my rough edges
until I am smooth.

The night in her eyes
completely obscured all of
the sin on her lips.

Will you search for me
or will you leave me alone
to howl in the dark?

It’s hard to have character
without being a character;
how else can you make a virtue
out of a vice?

After I am gone,
who will remember me and
the warmth of my hands.

The right way is found
not on meadow ground
but deep in the wood
lined by thorns, tipped with blood
of those who tried to go around.