There’s silent tears when lover takes my hand.

He is my friend before we fall in love.

When father dies, he seems to understand

and so he holds my heart with tender glove.

There’s open wail when our firstborn is lost

and nothing stops that blue psunami crush

when all our hurts into the sea are tossed

there is no damning up that flood of tears.


Yet, terror is that red volcanic rush

that liquid fire, smothered with black lies;


when love stares, stone-cold, in each other’s eyes.


(821 Form (Eleven line total):  3 stanza: lst stanza= 8 lines, 2nd stanza= 2 lines. Last stanza: summing up, or final line.)

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