I waited for you to exist.
now with time served
I will not waste,
my life is shaped
all else erased
by man
who once I cursed .
I wrote you down as earth,
projections made you black as night,
now revoked,
once judgement judged
all innocent
of anothers crimes.
You took me to your soul
and gave me the world
that I couldn't create
in solitary, lonely states,
where I reached for love
but none sustained me.
I was afraid without your voice,
now a part of you that leads me in
to warmth, weight,
touch and taste,
till unshaven,
drawn against my skin,
you kissed till I was soothed.
About Me
- Elizabeth Manuel
- Yorkshire, United Kingdom
- Born Elizabeth Maiden, one of four children, I have written poetry since the age of fourteen, although it didn't occur to me till recently to save or share the things I wrote as I never imagined as a young adult that I I would ever want to share my deepest thoughts with anyone. Now I keep my poems as a sort of shorthand diary of key moments from my life. My hope is that other 'poets' might derive some pleasure and comfort from mutual recognition of feeling expressed here.
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Circumstantial evidence
Circumstantial evidence
I found the girl
in the box
in your room,
Captured,
this woman
that meant nothing
to you?
Now lain in my hands
staring upwards,
half naked.
An evidence of the love
that you shared
with the hated.
She is not unattractive,
not at all as you told me;
why would you lie
about her
to console me?
Do I need consolation?
Does she pose such a threat?
All those feelings forgotten,
did you really forget?
Then why hold to her memory?
Why keep her face framed?
Why the sheepish avoidance
now I mention her name?
I am unnerved with a sense
that I have discovered you both,
still secretly inflamed
with a passion not lost,
because pictures you tore down
when she broke your heart,
are images you cling to
years since you've parted.
I found the girl
in the box
in your room,
Captured,
this woman
that meant nothing
to you?
Now lain in my hands
staring upwards,
half naked.
An evidence of the love
that you shared
with the hated.
She is not unattractive,
not at all as you told me;
why would you lie
about her
to console me?
Do I need consolation?
Does she pose such a threat?
All those feelings forgotten,
did you really forget?
Then why hold to her memory?
Why keep her face framed?
Why the sheepish avoidance
now I mention her name?
I am unnerved with a sense
that I have discovered you both,
still secretly inflamed
with a passion not lost,
because pictures you tore down
when she broke your heart,
are images you cling to
years since you've parted.
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