The darkness eats reflections of the warmth
from candlelights and dinner served inside
the house he used to call his home; he tried
in vain to mend the holes; with begging arms
enfolding voids; as afterwards his charms,
had crumbled at the altar of divides.
The doors to past are locked for debts unpaid
deceit can never be forgiven by the harmed.
Adulterers exposed can celebrate
alone, she thinks, and watch his company:
a bag that barely hides a bottle’s shape,
His street-light shadow moves, reverberates,
in echoes of his sins, in gluttony
of sex he always searched and found in rapes.
Today it’s Thanksgiving for those who celebrate, but the dVerse is open and I host OLN as if there is nothing that can stop us. Welcome the bar opens at 3PM CET.
November 26, 2015