Verse for #FromOneLine #prompt 163 inspired by “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.” from the play Tje Mourning Bride by William Congrove.
After the storm Her soul lay bare A torrent of words Gushed out in fury Suppressed, repressed Now phrases unruly Unabashed, unashamed She ripped the veils Shattered, battered Pretenses swept away Silent rage, now a surge All trauma, finally purged
You thrill me, Words As I twirl you around On a pencil tip Or a blue pen nib Then you gently lie In exhaustion, On reams of white Until I pick you up To dance on my lips As verses and stories Songs and mysteries
You were always there In every moment and anecdote In the manuscript of my life You were the trapped sighs Between tattered book covers Tangled in a web of my words You were my story, unspoken Unheard, until you become My poetry, prose, and verse!
Those who leave with words unsaid Stir up longings, buried yet not dead For one can only wait and wonder How their world was ripped asunder Songs of love, once carefree, wild Now broken chords, when lyrics died