You don't realise how beautiful it is
until they try to take you away.
Hands that bit at you
and made you cry
are gentler than the arms that offer rescue
and reprieve.
But that's insane,
to smile at sunset kisses
while thorny fears creep deep inside your mind,
much sweeter than the murmured words of comfort
come too late.
Too soon
the soothing well of solitude
is filled with hopeful promise of
a saviour,
when redemption's sting is worse than
the scars it seeks to heal.
A twisted lover
smirking and revelling in your storm
is missed more dearly than the specks of joy
which start their fall,
replacing showers of bitter tears
with waterfalls of solace.
Lost for too long
amongst the tangled scrum, arms and compulsions
that held you prisoner in their peat-dark grave,
too soon discovered
by probing sun and healing dawns.
Torn straight from Hell by hands of saviours,
already weeping
for the dainty lover's head
hung deep in blame.