What was intended is long gone; dying by a pitiful deed of cowardice.
Each word felt cold, blunt on my flesh
And a burst of crude laughter couldn’t hide away a long tendered hurt.
When the fire fizzled out, the wrangle left my conscience covered in ashes.
As your finger drew fine portrays of frustration
A stoic one could harbor in a lifetime.
Images; but your words felt heavy.
A deluge upon that stolid stance I feigned.
But I was soaked and I shivered.
Even though all the words you churned were charred; covered in soot.
Every expression you forged was smoke
Which engulfed my guilt and stung my apologies.
Your eyes lost the blinking rhythm and blanked into an unfamiliar place: not even a little portion of gleam.
The devil had sunk in your brows; your quivers proved so.
And if he comes back again, warn me to forefend my fears.
But now these coals are charred words with no meaning,
Only a feeling, a longing for warmth but ache prevails.
Let your walls tumble: your burnt soul needs an embrace.
A poem by Tonny Wandella