Ode to verse
Dearest verse,
I hope you will forever stay as warm as the first time I met you. But nowadays I question your warmth, you are a paradox; both sadistic and seductive.
O verse, how I bleed— My untold desires, My ruthless indecency, My lustrous premonition, In each dot and comma. Only for no answer. Foolish I am, seeking a cure for an ailment in words and syllables. An apothecary would laugh at my face.
Dearest verse you are so cold. So obscurely cold. Is it you who leaches the warmth from me? Yet so addicted I am to you, each time the world tries to crucify me, your embrace, it hides me from the mobs. Their pitchforks, just how can they never reach me in your bosom? Your bosom, just how is it always so serene? Yet, you kept me for so long, I no longer even recognise the man in the reflection. Where is it? His innocence, His voice, The light in his eyes, The clearness of his soul, Where?
I will never not come back to you. Just how have I made you the last string holding my humanity and faith together.
Dearest verse, How have I let you become my prayer? How beautifully you are destroying me.
