The Deer

My ego is struck with piercing words
That just as soon draw blood
And ache the way
A knife, held by your gaze,
Would pierce my skin

You can see my face
But do not know what lies beneath
And you could never understand
Why I return your glare
Without a tear from my eyes

The tumultuous skies
Churning in the distance
Reflect the bloody truth in being
Desolate, harmful, wicked
Yet I still do not flinch

In forward motion and standing still
It is I who is free to explore
All that my future holds
And you are the one
Destined to be mounted

Copyright © 2008 N.E. Tasker

This entry was posted on Wednesday, May 14th, 2008 at 9:00 am and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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