Whispers and Screams

thSing to me in peaceful whispers

Never raging screams,

for one’s an angry nightmare,

the other, moonlit dream.

One a peacock’s feather

that softly strokes your face.

the other a hard and bloodied fist

you run in terror to escape.

The fist demands attention,

the feather, it implies

and asks you to embrace its pleasures-

kisses you at night.

The fist shouts aimless angry threats

of loss and pain and war,

then kills your weak and broken soul

with vague and empty lies. 

but the fist can hold the feather tender

when the time is right.

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Author: moonmaenad

Unskilled Navigator of this ocean we call life..somebody throw me a lifejacket STAT…or a clever and friendly dolphin

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