Ripped from her victory garden
With promises of Roses & Violets
Sugar & Sweet compliments
Tiny poems as pollen
Soon left alone, till in hand
Thistle seed as some parting gift
So goes love to life
Roguing now, she
Mothering nature
In the early Spring sun
Blamed, but cultivating, still
Oaths and expletives
Solemnly, I curse His lips
On my life, I do
Ask ye I, Shame
What is it you want of sport with me
A story to tell
This cloddish girl
Oh! How she fell for parallel universe truths
A jovial tale
Where thee, with all thy dark proclivities
Shouldst mute and suffocate her good heart?
It’s not our fault, the night
Racing in to become the pace car to our heart rate
That it might conquer
Why weave these words, darkness, ’round our ankles?
Utterances we used to need to hear, that would have us walking tall?
I can’t say your name, but your number, I know
‘Til my last breath, I call you the liar you be
Your wishing to blackmail
Your attempt to bruise
Reality we now enjoy
Ask us to wrestle, and wrestle we will
For you have lost us
To flowers and fauna
Forever to smiles from friends
Again
And over again
My soul the General
Directing a blood battle
Commanding legions of voices in my head
Take no prisoners!
A Civil dissection upon shared territory
Pitting brother truth against father lies 
War already won
But war is hell, and this battle, more so
My aristocratic hands, hard evidence
My afire body, further proof
I’m fireproof and unquenchable
A knifesman and blacksmith to the bone
I opened the door
My wishing is small white lies
Brutalizing me
My soulmate constellation
The big deal in the sky, to me
Oh, how you rocked my statuesque space
And, more so, mocked me
Be there any hour, any hemisphere
That might set fixed these spinning bodies?
i count the Lies
discarded so effortlessly
They float like feathers
from Your lips
and are my bible
i count the Zeros
carved painstakingly
They scar like stains
on my skin
and are Your poiēma
A pompous, polished bandera
Hand-woven in top-quality, one hundred percent Grade AA American lies
Little stars at the center, numbed
With trumpet-fare, staked, time and again
Atop your own mountain
LisaRosier.com 