bloody pages
the written word is dead, so weak,
but if you look amid the peak
and the space between each verse,
you will find an ancient curse;
observation in its raw
form and posture, like a saw
that is bound to cut you deep,
when alone you are asleep.
spoken words hold so much power;
admiration they devour,
mixing that with soothing silence.
i'd surrender to her violence,
and in fact to anything
that her essence has to bring,
for absorbing her is key
to my blue philosophy.
i could listen to her talk
for eternity and walk
endless roads, to nowhere in
particular. is that a sin?
truth be told, i do not care
if they catch me bleeding, stare
at my open wounds with rage.
there is blood on every page.
©LukaKorba
With love,