Free Poems - Written at Age 27
Yours is the voice of the enemy -
Cold is your clutch on my soul.
Strange are the words pouring emptily -
Telling me why you should go.
And my blood courses, rich and volcanic;
It pulses and quickens my breath,
For you leave me for reasons Satanic;
You leave me to follow your death.
But I loved you, far more than you wondered,
Perhaps more than ever you'll know
You were the heartache, who thundered,
And rocked through my vigilant soul.
If my poetry rolls through the ages
While your heart fades to dust in the earth,
You soul might survive in its pages,
If for only its pages hold worth ...
When you no longer you come to me knocking
Quietly outside my door,
And we no longer we spend the night talking,
Sitting for hours on the floor,
Remember, my love never crushed you.
I held it and hid it within;
Remember my life never touched you.
Mine were the eyes of the sin,
And you were my death and damnation,
Hungry and black like a hole,
For I poured all my life and creation
Into the void of your soul,
If you hear not a warning I whisper,
And heed no entreaty I cry,
Then your future shall whither and blister,
After you've left me behind ...
If my poetry rolls through the ages,
For centuries after our birth,
Your soul will live on in its pages,
While your heart fades to dust in the earth;
Then shall the future forsake you.
Remorse will not rescue your soul,
Nor the fires of hell re-awake you,
As the thundering centuries roll,
And my footsteps will follow and haunt you
My heartbeat will shake in your ears;
The sounds of my prayers will taunt you
For the next thousands of years,
And the words of the warnings I whispered
Will echo and ache in your mind,
And your future shall whither and blister,
After you've left me behind,
And the rivers will roll in the valleys,
Glaciers will thunder and crawl,
Comets will plummet in sallies
Over the firmament wall,
And the mists will arise from the oceans,
Earth will encircle the sky,
Men will abandon their notions,
Civilizations will die,
And my poetry, roll through the ages,
While this Babylon rolls into rust.
Your soul will live on, in its pages ...
Your heart will decay into dust.
Written by Anna Williams at age 27