The Iceberg of a Man

by | Mar 9, 2016 | Poetry | 0 comments

Too deep like an iceberg I see nothing but the tip—
the truth well hides, the part well seen means nothing
I haven’t been told more than anybody else.
I, a flower, hold but a little root for who I am,
all your eyes can see is my entirety verbatim—
the fragrance, the sweet and tender spring caress
life broke out like life eternal, sunshine inside undimmed
within my heart, I pass on the dreams of tomorrow;
my hands are open, so is my heart with you complete,
not inside one of your history books left alone to dry
a souvenir of a hand too strong to resist not to pluck—
a garden of man so barren, without me a wasteland.

A big game of hide and seek, but what does it matter?
You’ve always been hiding, cowardly behind a curtain—
the protruding parts in you I see are the only man left;
to steal a heart already given is way too short of a theft—
bragging your long tail and swaggering like a false diamond
shining all the way in naïve eyes until one day broken;
take off your shirt first, let me see your chest and feel
if there is a heart beating so afraid to let go a mountain
on the bodies of a million women like me, you rose
like from the womb that bled your heart to life;
she never knew you’d never learn the lesson,
and live in ignorance a king, dead from the start.


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