Poem -

Friday

Friday

Midnight settles in your eyes,
with the scent of familial pain, 
at the back of my own hand
you stay; healing the face 
of my mind in every tomorrow. 
Selfish my fate to use 
the easiest answer, palatially 
placed in the interlink of your
fingers, writing poetry in
my breath, a piano.
To grasp the man that loves
unconditionally like true a
Shakespearian major,
discarding tuned keys unto
the blood of another,
upon a mid-summer
night's dream,
I can't shake
the stain of red from my hands,
the stain of red from my hands,
the blood, the blood,
your blood on my hands.

 

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Tony Taylor

Amazingly well crafted poetic prose here my friend...... the Shakespearean reference works perfectly here with the torturous type memories where regret seems to control the narrative of a life filled with it!!...... The blood imagery hauntingly reminding and repetitively unwelcome in the back story of a familial relationship gone awry!!....... fantastic imagery delivered here!!........ALL STARS & PINNED!!...... Bravo!......T xo. : )

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author

Thank you Tony I so appreciate the feedback. Really love that you enjoyed the Shakespearian references and considered them to work well. It really means a lot to me ❤ thanks for your time and having a read of my work! All the best to you x

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