Murderous Poetess
She paints the world in pretty words
A magic that creates beauty heard
And like a donkey tethered to cart
Her words pull constantly on my heart
For little does she know the depth
To which her subtle words in breath
Do pierce and pain this troubled soul
Now bound upon her whipping pole
Each eloquent and pointed phrase
Brings to light the hardest days
They burrow their way easy through
To reveal a man I never knew
And in amongst her words so rife
Is found a reflection of my life
Did she write words just for me
But how could that possibly be
She would not recognize my face
Yet, in her words I find a trace
Of things I keep from showing
Written with a style of knowing
Each day I die just a little more
Can’t be the man I was before
Her verses set my truths all free
As she kills me with her poetry
commonsensiblyspeaking 
a slow, painful death, but maybe see it as a rebirth?
Every end is the beginning of something new. A great perspective, Beth. Thank you!
Beautiful…reminds me of what I’ve always said, I don’t want a love that brings me gifts, flowers or Valentines, I want a love that dies for me, for a love that dies for me will never die…
Thank you, my friend. A wonderful sentiment!
You’re very welcome my friend!
“And like a donkey tethered to cart
Her words pull constantly on my heart”
what a great line…
and hopefully we are never the same person we were the day before…
wonderful poem, Brad.
Thank you, Jim! I so appreciate your kindness and support.
👍
So elegant and lovely! 😍
Thank you, my dear friend! Sometimes it just takes the right words to become a bit smitten.
I should know. I’ve swooned over your words many times!
This is a lovely poem Brad. Touches my heart. I often wonder when I write a poem if it relates to any others who read it in a deep way. I am certainly affected by others writings as I am by yours. I write truth and I think often it is too much for some. But I do it anyway. I think you too write truth. Your words are special and beautiful Brad. Sending love and hugs 🤗 Jonikins