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My thorns of my Heart

By Sheila Woolum All Rights Reserved ©

Fantasy / Romance

My thorns of My Heart

We fall in love with the reckless, we fall in love with the Blind, we fall in Love with the hopes only to find our hearts are Blind,

We fall in love with the complained, we fall in love with the hurt, we fall in Love with those that bring us shame, we lay in the Bed of flames to feel as though we must provide a time, we fall without wings just hoping they catch us beneath our prisons of hearts,

we fall off the rocks of imprisonments, we fall ,

if our feet was laced with metal upon the base of shields, we could forgive our punishments in the forgiveness of our fears, if our hearts could bleed out to fill them back up again, why would we hold to the things that are bad for us in the end,

we hold to Love as though it is a prison of our breath ,

we hold to Love as it was without its own poison , poison of our fears,

we hold to our Black hearts that fall off the box of graves, dusty and old it holds to the timeless waiting upon our patiently blind love fate ,

we are dying inside as creep falls upon the dusty way, we die inside to feel our fate , we die inside,

we are holding our own sacks now , sacks of indifference hoping to find our prisons of headless motion , Headless imprisonments,

we are headless without our shoes, we are headless in Love , we are headless as love falls upon our shoulders of time , and though we wait with the breath that hides beneath the fog of the night, are lips wait for the crimson passions that nothing would thirst as though it was a prison of hope , prisons of blades, we are without our own words, for our own prison is our own lack.

we are that which will remain , that as slaves if we knew the beginning , then we should know the end, but we are without the knowledge that remains, that is within our own skin, we are faceless, we are hopeless, we are at the mercy of time , the mercy of the Ball that hopes to hide and fall as blades ,

Blades of sickles , blades of sickles across our shoulders , we fall beneath our own punishment , never fear for your fear would bring you hope you will allow your own prison to hope for nothing comes in the night only to steal your breath , breath of something of sweetness , sweetness as she can taste something as though nothing is there, I will not move , because I was without my own lips , I was without my own mind, I will not hope for I was without my own life, I will not move, I am in prison to my heart, the beating of its own self and its own mind, I am in prison to my own mind, I am in prison to my own heart,

it has a voice , it has a song, she sings as though no one can hear her , she sings in the darkness of her room , she sings on the mountains of falls hollow grave, she sings in the rivers of the rocks when no one is there, she has a voice, she has a song , she has a way she has her own hope she is her own self, the Mystery the Mystery that climbs as though vines in the home of hope, vines upon the grass, and then the dew.

The heart has hope she has a song that only she Understands, no one can call her lame , or blind or imprisoned she has wings, she flies as though the cage caged her without its walls, she has wings to take flight upon the air and then nothing behind her follows, nothing in front of her matters anymore , she climbs to fall off her own prison the walls she only created for herself , her wings and cage fell across her own shoulders , and as time remains standing upon the flesh beating games in this World, we can find ourselves alone with our own hopes , if only to dance for the prisons of love , love is the passion the heart beats for , but the song no one understands,

it is a Beautiful dance that love falls off the rocks into the hands of fate, she will sing as lullabies , lullabies, those beautiful songs , something we can hear as no one knows, we can sing those . perhaps we are our own enemy in the World of Hopes and dreams, perhaps there is a mission as though the tumble weeds bleeds within our own souls , we are fading in this World only to express love , express passion, hopes and dreams fall on our hearts, if we can only dream and believe perhaps we will find love , love as though it waits on no one, and as though it has a memory or a purpose as time allows, it is a Beautiful song, the song of the Birds wings, that flies in the night, the bird that holds to its own heart, that sings its own beautiful song, that only she can hear, maybe as time goes on we will Understand the words that we fear, the song that we hear and the heart that we hold within the cage of life of our walls of our own prison within our own cage, that within our chest, our chest of lies.

chest of prisons of love, we will chat to our happiness that which we fight so hard to keep and that which comes to the lowest of them all as a free gift, we will fight in this world to capture that very thing, that very longing , that very hope , our Love , our hopes and dreams and prisons, our home, it would be our cage that we maybe have created without knowing that our own wings created, we are the Birds , the Birds of thorns and thistles , we can only taste that which we will produce without meaning , that which we wait to hold onto our own breath

Our journey , our patience , our hopes our dreams, maybe passions, maybe prisons, we will wait to find the very thing we fight so hard to get but then lose in a moment of time, something we cannot obtain but yet is at our reach , ourselves , our hopes , our love , our journey …

Our Love ,

Author , Sheila Woolum


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