Weeping rootsA Poem by SilentVersesShortened my words spit upon me the acid hatred, forcing a broken rhythm upon me.
Delicate aroma: a spice-merchant's daughter,
curled at the foot of night's secrets she holds a shame. Runs, through forests, thorns entwining within her; merging to sharpened shards of resentment pushing through her blood. Her solace is in this isolation, inner peace sought for under our languid branches. Night falls and moon-called she flees, back to the sinner's arms. O spice-merchant's daughter; my roots weep for you. © 2011 SilentVersesFeatured Review
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StatsAuthorSilentVersesHong KongAboutI adore reading, it is where my love for the written word has originated from. My favourite writers are Sylvia Plath, Fyodor Dostoevsky, j.d sallinger,Ken Kesey, Primo Levi and Virginia woolf. I exp.. more..Writing
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