Immersed inside a misty dream,
I walk along a quiet stream.
No one hears my silent screams,
And love becomes a tortured scene.
High upon a lonely hill
My voice a silent, tortured shrill
And all of my abandoned will
Invades my soul, with endless chill.
I wander lost in dewy grass
Praying I would wake at last,
And find that all my pain was cast
Into a cavern, dark and vast.
You are the breath my soul requires,
And though I’ve loved you, I desire
To shed the pain of love’s fair liar.
You are love’s death, my funeral pyre.
© 2014 Bella Nina
More by this Author
To be in the midst of a tormented love affair is to run naked in an endless thunderstorm. It is to be so exposed at your core that you exist on the love alone.