Jaguar Bingham

The Chill









Good Gentleman, Good Lady, oh I wish that you could see –

There's sincere truth that comes with Civility,

A certain charm lies in my heart

Begging for yours to stay

Until tomorrow, for just another day.



Having parched my heart with burning scorn

Drier still like the Sahel, the Corn

Of my love cannot flourish,

In an Empty garden – fruitless

Are my efforts – unless collaborated with your prowess



For your secret utterance so sweet

Yet Devious, fell from the ivy tree

Strangling your ability

To love a soul (minus your own)

Hearing the magnitude of the fall -



For Hours I perched, alone; afraid

For your echoing Voice haunts me, above my grave

Slipping out and in

Those weak and crumbling shelves of terror

Heavily Stowed away – my mind is a Mirror



Crushed, shattered, splintered, broken –

Nothing can fill space left - the words unspoken

Misery ubiquitous, hopelessness lost

The Frosty whispers chill

Our Flame, hardened, brittle – still.






Copyright © JRFB 2012


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