Bleed in backwards

It was packed so tightly that it all got stuck.
A love weeping in the sediments of us.
You can feel it rushing down that valley inside.
Crimson boats on a disappearing tide.
And though your mind seeks now to triumph.
This heart still whirls its stark defiance.
Against a gulf that keeps exceeding.
A pain that hurts and keeps repeating.
It calls upon sweet ancient magic.
The spell of love, to vanquish tragic.

23/08/201923/08/2019 by Mark Ryan Categories: blood, hurt, love, PoetryTags: bleed, blood, boat, gulf, hurt, love, magic, manist, overcome, poem, Poetry, spell, tide, tragic, triumph, water, win 7 Comments