If I am wrong about you... send me to my death!
for I have seen so called truth in the darkness of fertile lies.
Yet I find when I think of you hope is poetic justice in the seeds of unspoken words...written in the memory bank of a script held together by a bond of everlasting love.
If your heart beats as mine timely waits for birth
then show me the way
I would die without question, for the reality of my nightmares, and gladly exist in the fantasy of your warm desire.
If I could be me? ... I would mould myself into the gift of perception, and show you the future of a perceptive moment in the flicker of a searching eye...maybe my arms might comfort the vacant room in your winter heart of frozen shadows.
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Comments about this poem (Doing Time by Martina Moriarty )
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