literature

O, How the Hours Betray

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tangenthoughts's avatar
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Literature Text

I was there.
Your hair fell upon my shoulder
and rained down the windowpane
of my chest.

Did I not hold your trembling fingers
in my aching hands
or calm the shuddering gale
from your lips
with the steady cadence
of my warm breath?

And still,
in spite of the smiles
I have orchestrated
upon this barren visage,

you look upon this battered landscape
with unsatiated eyes.

Whatever I am to you,
I will never be new.
Notes:

This poem is paired in my journal with a sketch of my interpretation of Lucifer in agony after the war for the heavens. I'd post the sketch here, but I don't have a scanner at my disposal.

A little worried about the clichés (e.g., battered landscape), but unsure of alternatives.

Also, unsatiated should definitely be a word.
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