Watch Out Now
It was kind of a weird night, and now I'm up really late on a Thursday night. But it's ok because I don't have class until 2:00 tomorrow. Anyway, I needed to stay up a little bit before going to bed. I had been thinking about this poem all day, bouncing the idea around in my head. And since I tend to write my stuff at night it had to be done at 2:30 in the morning. I kinda like it. The whole thing's a metaphor though, the title's a big hint as to what it refers to. Ten points and my eternal affection to the first one who can comment and correctly guess who or what the poem is about.
Lub
Her curves bleed feminine
shapely and swaying,
but beware
her fickle face
belies hidden mist.
With facets forever flowing
she's stranger than the sea.
Sometimes she's stone,
rough and numb,
no flaws or failures.
Others have crumbled,
but not her.
Sometime's she's ice,
harsh and bitter.
She is cruel
as only a woman can be,
slicing through sentiments
as if they were locks of hair.
Yet the cold
causes old scars to twinge
and stitches to come undone.
But on good days,
days when the sky is painted
she manages to become gold.
A warm woman
with wealth and light.
She kisses quietly
and comforts
as only a woman can.
Sighing and tireless
her efforts are mine alone.
She never stops.
Thanks for reading.
Lub
Her curves bleed feminine
shapely and swaying,
but beware
her fickle face
belies hidden mist.
With facets forever flowing
she's stranger than the sea.
Sometimes she's stone,
rough and numb,
no flaws or failures.
Others have crumbled,
but not her.
Sometime's she's ice,
harsh and bitter.
She is cruel
as only a woman can be,
slicing through sentiments
as if they were locks of hair.
Yet the cold
causes old scars to twinge
and stitches to come undone.
But on good days,
days when the sky is painted
she manages to become gold.
A warm woman
with wealth and light.
She kisses quietly
and comforts
as only a woman can.
Sighing and tireless
her efforts are mine alone.
She never stops.
Thanks for reading.