Her lament

The way it was, I burned myself, the red welt rose
Blistered like a punishment, a solemn mark
From a hierophant; but it was just a meal
Gone wrong, some nourishment that never  reached
The plate and lasted years, a semiology of memory
Like an elastic band twanged to make me hesitate
To ever think  regretfully
Of  he who caused my hand to shake;
Love  burns
Much fiercer when seasoned with the fear of hate.


Veronica Aldous 2016 All Rights Reserved


About Veronica Aldous

Writer and artist, Veronica is a lecturer is Fine Art and Creative Writing. Her first book of poems, 'Moon Cinema' is now available on Now there is also 'Mortal' her second book.
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2 Responses to Scar

  1. chithankalai says:

    what to comment with the final two sentences. Veronica. …. It burns.

    Liked by 1 person

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