Veronica Faison Poetry

My eyes bled, not red but pure golden light
His beauty threw me into a whirlwind
Of passion, tender warmth fed with delight
A fallen angel, for my love he sinned
For me, he sacrificed his broken wings
Like a bird, feathers were plucked, scraping skin
How I adore caring for broken things.
No longer able to fly high above.
The skies he yearns for, redemption he clings
Still, he was an eagle; I was his dove
Forever came and gone; swift like midnight
His sweet words were just tall tales of feigned love
Truth rained down clearly, the view crystal bright
In despair, had I fallen, ‘stead of flight

Forgiveness, so cried the small voice within.
Begrudge not, for the rashness of his crime.
Betrayal caused his fall, not me to win.
Resolved to be cruel, caused the slowing time
Drowsy, my sanity lost in a mist
Quickened by impulse, chest pounding, bells chimed
I love you, he’d lied promised with his kiss
Over my eagle, I loomed like a ghost
Smiling, my angel lay sleeping in bliss
My fingers twitched, if possessed by some host
Bent on revenge, spurred by retribution
Justice within my fingertips, to boast
Of the fury, flying loose with the wind
Joy of success, I flexed my hands and grinned

Poet: veronica faison