Cliffside of Suffering, by Ven
I stand on hallowed ground,
The rain a voracious sound.
My hair matted and drenched,
Yet my throat far from quenched.
Not all that falls on this day so wretched,
Comes from those clouds so dreaded.
As drops trickle down my wetted cheeks,
And bated caws leave those crows’ beaks.
Yet naught touches my mind beyond this scene,
My ears blind to that which is unseen.
These bloodshot eyes fixed on her remains,
As they lower into these great plains.
My thoughts a mangled mess,
As I remember her last caress,
Before her hand fell listless
—My long lost mistress.
Your body now low was once so high,
Whereas I was never but a fly.
Yet you brought me under your roof,
While others were all so aloof.
They spared me no time of their day,
Left to starve on those streets in dismay.
Some raised their fist at my unkempt face,
Angered by my life’s lacking grace.
But you stretched a hand so gentle,
I could not help but think you mental.
This world ever so conceited,
Wished me beat and defeated.
But for you, I stood defiant,
And to you, I was reliant.
You were my neverland.
And I wished for your hand.
But this vast chasm between your station,
Could not be coaxed by mere flirtation.
And so I buried this desire and left,
Unable to withstand this heft.
And now I return with regret,
Never again to see you fret,
To feel your beaming smile,
To be fooled by your cheeky guile.
I should have never ran away,
To at least try and convey…
But it is long too late,
And I can only wait and abate.

