Poetry Blogs (thief)

A year or so ago,

if you would like to know;

a thief, she stole my heart.

Then left me all alone.

If I gave her the blame,

well, that'd be a shame.

I could call myself a thief, too.

Just not in the same way.

You see, a thief never returns.

But me? Her heart was always hers.

She stole mine then made the escape,

with mine, hers, and her final words.

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There’s a floor called race and a home called blood,

it can be what forms you.

It can be what clothes you, what warms you as it flows through your body,

a rich honey providing brotherhood, relation, family and love -

bonds of pride which cartwheel through your body.

I have a mystery and in my father lies the clues.

I had droplets of speciality, uniqueness, distinction, excitement...

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