Somewhere in the soul of discontent,
Is a spot left ajar with love's faint lament
A drone, if you will, of emotions gone cold...
And the ring of a bell from the spirit on hold.
If wishes were worth it and answers spoke truths,
Then the heart of the matter would be black not blue.
And the posers of silence...unspoken but fed,
By gestures, suggested...like emails...unread.
Is the crux of the matter like quick games of chess...
Just words to check pa**ions and lust left a mess.
Or whispers of love that open the gates?
For the victor whose words ring forever, "checkmate"
You have to believe or just lay down and die ...
For the soul never gives up this pie in the sky.
So to speak and forgive me ,but never to dread,
These words that experience so often have lead..
A bride of loves pa**ion as jealous winds blow
And words of a suitor whose words never showed...
Quite the meaning of love or just what was meant,
On this eve of regression and masked discontent.