Poem – “Your Iron Hands” – Romance – 11/3/2020

Holding the hardness
Of a cold, winter’s heart,
I can sing you tunes that would not matter
To the lonesome state of your eyes.
Face me,
Like facing the broken child,
The twisted animal
Tied at the neck to the fence,
Bleeding of spirit, through the eyes.

Inside the white
Of staring blue,
Is merely the black of a void
That was never filled,
Was never reprieved
Of the pain that cannot leave.

I soak those hands
Of yours, iron in saturation
With the blood of my once joyful self.
You wish to fathom
The grief that pains my living self.
To the ends of space, you will find me.

Living like breaths and blood
Can become one,
Like great sirens can alert
Life to awaken from its death,
In deathlessness.

I can wield a heart,
Caked with the residue of a past,
Silenced by the sicknesses for the future,
Worshipped by gods that have plunged.

Can it ever soften?

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