Poetry

Muted-

 

She opened her hands, from which butterflies flew.

She opened her arms to find love is like glue.

She opened her mouth with words to sing;

unrequited love has no bell to ring.

 

She opened her heart, finding no back pedal;

finding angels whose aim is to meddle.

She opened the skies to see the truth;

opened her eyes to mistakes of her youth.

 

Fiery demons muting the good:

Would she forever be misunderstood?

What she wouldn’t give for love…

In the end, that is all that matters, above.

 

11:11 pm, 1.21.16

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