Friday, 17 April 2015


Those hands holding each other in the dark,
Those lips, pressed together, have made their mark,
Their eyes pierce each other, knowing they're blessed,
Away from judgement they must disembark.

Like larks in love, they must fly to the nest,
Consumed in passion, they forget the rest,
They make love in the tender throes of night,
The rush of clothes, him caressing her breast.

But jealous watchers will suspect a slight,
So they look and stalk, knowing it's their right,
For they no longer feel marriage's wonder,
Soon their sad eyes will find the lover's bite.

Oh my father, his heart rent asunder,
Cos' of my mother's love for another,
Once the grief wears away, what will be left,
All I hear will be the crack of thunder.

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