Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Syrup of love

A clandestine broken heart
Left fluttering upon the floor.

No tears, only maniacal laughter.

Invective fingers point nowhere,
Torpid minds dwell on false accusations.

Nothing is accomplished and
After the impetuous fingers fall,
All that's left is a specter of hope.

The wounded heart no longer beats,
The blood takes precedence over
Such rageful scapegoating.

All is silent,
All is on.

What fool vitiates such beauty?
What fool decimates love?

A fool like me.

I'm extant, and I let them all know.
The syrup of love might be saccharine,
But not everyone acclimates to the taste.

Least of all me.

6-26-12


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Syrup of love

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