La sombre

Tonight, I write;
j’écris.
I don’t write with any purpose in sight,
but simply to put ink to paper,
fingertip to key, words to permanence.
When everything in the world shifts, changes,
what do I have but my words?
To take away my innocence, my essence,
you can.
But my thoughts, my desires,
those to you are taboo.
The night is somber and the storm clouds rolling in.
I tip my chin to the sky
and catch the first rain on my tongue.
The droplet hits the surface of my flesh
and soaks into my pores,
a violation.
I close my lips and swallow,
a tribulation.
Why trust reason when treason will follow?

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