The Truth

From SP and AW to TH.

Incandescent with white-hot rage,
I lie here in my furious grave.

You think I am gone.
Safely locked in my box.
My eyes won’t see.
My ears won’t hear.

You think you are free
to spin your tales of fate,
to spin our lives into a web
of lies that catch our souls like flies.

But I was there, darling,
when you wrote those letters.
I stood behind you and watched
your pen leak excuses,
ink made from our blood.
Weaving your pages of myths.

I, your first wife, I.
I inevitably died.
Written in the stars from the day I was born.
Mad thing that I was.
How else could it end?

Like a puppet
I jerked into hatred of her.
But now I have seen.  Now I have heard.
I wrote the rival.  You wrote the other.
Now the unlikely partnership forms
and we, we write the truth.

Look over your shoulder, dear, at all times.
Keep a watch in every mirror you see.
Be afraid every time that the telephone rings.
Listen out for unexpected knocks at the door.
Do not fall asleep with the TV on.

One of these days, my love, one of these days.

We will rise from the ashes.  We will have our revenge.
We will write the final chapter of this myth.
Two suicides will drag this God to his death.

One of these days, my love, one of these days.

© Morney Wilson

Reviews

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Scary! I just veiwed another of your poems, I am looking at all of the new writing on the site
and another one of your poems popped up.
As is previously stated this is a bit scary.
I see that your focus- ay least right now- is on relationships. Nice, good topic.
This, the sentiment at least, reminds me of Wuthering Heights by Bronte.
The revenge aspect is
very similar to the main character Heathcliff.
It is also a story of multi-deminsional dwellings.