The Dove that died.

                                      The Dove that died.                                             

When heaps of dust,

Led me through in lust,

There were the words I wrote,

The words I could never emote.

The arm that held me tight,

That once showed me some light.

You don’t love me now,

Wasn’t it then all about love?

Me you were into,

Fear I’d undo.

For that the curtains covered,

The beating fist into pieces hovered.

                                                   

* * *