Thoughts: The Silence That Speaks
The lost maiden,
Wanders deep within,
With thoughts of him, and what had drawn her in,
She willed those thoughts to leave,
Recalling the torture she reprieved,
The sheer panic and congestion,
As he stood towering, with bated aggression,
Stocky, wide and unattractive,
Unloving the maiden with fierce refraction,
He threw her aside, a discarded pile of pathetic mess,
And compared her to angelic women,
Creamy-skinned with exposed breasts,
Their touch awakened butterflies in his chest,
And how he would lie entangled in their embrace,
Succumbing to their touch,
Until they lay breathless and spent for the day,
Yet now he sits and grieves, alone nonetheless,
And while he lies amongst the senseless,
He remains a shrewd, an imp and nothing less.
