The echo of the love you speak of
was never truly mine to hold,
Yet the whisper of your gentle venom
refreshes daily and never gets old.
Never again will I settle
for less then what my spirit is worth,
Or to be beaten by words of poison
and stoop to the levels I'm told.
A genuine soul is unveiled
when the healing has taken place,
For thy soul has been brutally battered
by the world envisioned and conveyed.
Living in peace and thriving passions
showing kindness as it unfolds,
For all mankind who choose to love me
are my brothers and sisters tenfold.
The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov
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