A not so innocent comment,
Twisted daggers and misplaced hate,
Duplicitous and malicious.
Forced open doors long ago closed
By fate’s heavy, unbalanced hand,
Waking whispered ghosts not yet dead,
Hurting the one you claim to love.
Honor the memory of love,
Even if it is not your own.
Risen up from dying embers,
Spiraling out of your control.
Come hither says Love’s crooked finger,
Beckoning from darkest shadows.
For nightmares of my flesh and blood
Will share your bed each night.
There is no healing, only remission.
Sharp edges peel the layers back,
Reveal the skull still lying there.
Grief does not die so easily.
Auras remain, halos of pain,
Making even the strongest weak.
Because despite a brief reprieve,
The aching will always return.
Respect the memories of love,
They do not belong to you.
Did you taste my cold lips on yours?
A kiss, my sharp wooden stake through
The heart, just moments before.
Waging a war against your dark
And blackened soul. What is light now?
Naught but emphasizing shadows.
You should have left the dead in peace.
Honoring the presence of love,
Even if it is not my own.
Please enjoy today’s Mediocre Medical Poetry while I work on posts to answer the questions you all gave me this past week! 🙂