Sceptics Tongue
Fill the empty void with misery
And strangle frantic hopes.
An incarnation of bitter joy
Our last meeting so drear and cold.
The conflagration of your letters of love
Lie cold in the hearth now but ashes,
An immolation of my hopes,
Become rock dashed dreams
Upon the alter of sacrifice.
Can I survive or bear
A winter dark, long and drear.
Are stretched polar nights now my lot?
No my sceptics tongue longs to deny
Or fails acceptance of your loss.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Added by Poetry Lover
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