The Fool

2 Comments

Tags:
  • Saddness
    • ,
  • Emotions
    • ,
  • Addiction
    • ,
  • Love
    • hcrellers
    • February 5th, Friday morning, purple dawn... A moment like a poem, you wish you could hold it... I shut my eyes like it's frozen... it's gone when I open...

    The Fool
    deeper than i thought was possible
    this love has surrounded me
    it steals all of my thoughts
    its the scab i pick at till it bleeds
    i could never imagined
    that what was is this
    i still have so much of you inside
    it sickens me
    my days are filled with dreams of you
    i feel the warmth in my soul
    and the abyss where my heart was
    the heart you stole
    like a crook in the night
    what was a trade
    became a forfeit
    have you done this before
    a serial lover
    your love is the drug i can't quit
    the high incredible bliss
    the withdrawals tear my soul to shreds
    i think to myself
    who are you?
    why do i let you do this to me?
    i see your face in my mind...
    my heart calls for you.
    i'm blinded...
    i'm a fool.


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    Charlie23 commented on The Fool

    02-01-2010

    This is awesome, I love your wording throughout this poem. I only cringed at one line, and it nothing to do with your writing, but rather the image you placed in mind. I take that back, that has everything to do with your writing, it says you can paint a vivid picture. Great poem!
    Reply to Comment

    hcrellers

    02/01/2010

    thank you again for another lovely compliment. :)

    lithiumblack commented on The Fool

    01-27-2010

    Love is sociopathic, in its' way. It brings us to our knees in waves of indescribable passion, while silently creeping up behind us, waiting patiently to drive the proverbial blade in deep and slow. You've captured that perfectly in this piece. Another outstanding poem.
    Reply to Comment

    hcrellers

    01/27/2010

    how true are your words. thank you again.

    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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