painted / blanket

behind a door,
inside a box,
wrapped up in papers with a bow

is how he feels
about his love:
so much that she will never know

he’d give his arm,
he’d give his heart,
but he can’t make his feelings felt

and silence like
a blanket falls —
for what she doesn’t know
can’t help


in painted sadness daylight goes
and takes her long hopes with it;
it’s time to care about herself,
it’s time to stop and pivot

and do the things she knows she must,
and to herself show honor:
although she knows she’s giving up
some things
she’ll always
long for

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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