at home with ann

Archive for January 5th, 2007

Hope

Posted on: 5 January 2007

My second attempt at sestina… well they say
practice makes perfect, so bear with me and maybe
in time I shall master it well like the master,
my muse… just don’t hold your breath

*************************************

each night the same, she shuts her eyes and red
she sees, no calm to still her throbbing heart
please heed her prayers and let her sleep
please give her the will to live and hope
through tears she cries, no more, no more
of his unbidden and forbidden touch

she senses his presence, she feels his touch
she smells the sour, sickly, roses red
she hears his taunts as mocking more
and more his fingers tease her aching heart
she fights the fight, gives up no hope
that tonight is the night at last in peace she’ll sleep

she pines for peace, she yearns for sleep
she prays he’ll vanish never to suffer his touch
again; her sole dream an eternal hope
she will bear witness to the scarlet red
of his bleeding heinous heart
thrusting deep her bitter blade more and more and more

she knows her mind plays games and more
for no man lays in her bed at night to sleep
beside her broken battered heart
years have passed since she felt his soft touch
the roses then fresh, sweet, scented red
a future filled with promise, love, hope

young they were, full of dreams and hope
for a lifetime of joy, happiness and more
love’s betrothal pledged by ring of ruby red
and love’s sweet innocence let blessed sleep
of purity and the gentleness of his touch
bound two souls beating as one heart

his slaughter brutal, feral, wild, his heart
ripped out, shattered dreams and all hope
dashed; she never again to know his tender touch
for the devil cast his eye on her, liked what he saw and wanted more
prising her lover from her arms in childlike sleep
never again to kiss his luscious lips of cherry red

worn down, worn out, worn away, her heavy heart can take no more
no happy ending here, all wretched hope of peace and craved for sleep
lost for ever by this demon’s touch, his blood soaked hands of crimson red

copyright 2007 ann raven


the loves of my life

at the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet ~~~ plato

thank you…

... to everyone whose pictures and videos I have borrowed; if anyone would like theirs to be removed, please tell me and I shall be happy to do so

all words here are mine ~ I’ll tell you when they’re not!

from long ago

in case I forget what day of the week it is

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