Blissful Blackness
By: LadyWillow
I cringe as your fist raises
As if to strike me.
Then it lowers, and you
apologize.
But the next day, amidst the
chirping birds, and the sweet
smell of the flowers,
you raise your hand at me
again
and again, "I'm sorry."
Then, in the private of my room,
you raise your fist once more.
And this time, it connects with
my face.
And just as the blissful blackness
comes on, I am left wondering
Why?
Poem copyrighted to Jessica Knoll, 2002. This poem is actually copyrighted to my name. That means if you steal it you can be fined, and arrested. The jail time for plagerism is quite severe, so please save yourself the embarrassment and write your own poem. Thanks.
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