Purple

The midnight in my soul is purple bruise
A plummy sticky hurt so ripe and sour
It festered and now poison oozes out
I fear my pain will seep out into view
Veneer my life with stories frothy light
I drink and dance and sway on mortal coil
The armour of my wit is dented now
Exposure cannot even be conceived
You mirror to my face you let me see
I stand as naked as the winter ash
You hold me and immerse me in the pain
Then help me dress the wounds with tender love
And when I try to thank you for your care
You say that you are honoured to be here

Advertisements

Author: thepoetautist

A Gay poet of fifty odd years who is currently living in Cambodia.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s