Sent But Not Delivered

If ale be an ailment to loneliness
Then it only lasts a night.
If skin be turned gold by Midas’ caress
Then it only lasts ‘till light.

Then, I was so free and wild;
Then, I was still half a child.
But now Apollo rides behind clouds of blue
Now I’m disgusted, ashamed, no longer new.

Before untouched, after untouched too.
Exiled to the cold, dark outskirts of your mind,
And reduced to a member of a slattern kind.
To turn to muteness is to wage war too.

If ale be an ailment to loneliness
Then it only lasts a night.
If skin be burned by a callous press
Then I will burn, burn, burn, burn bright.

Mike Hunt


Footnote

I didn't make this poem. This was made by a friend. She has been going through hard times lately due to an atrocious event that has happened.

Let us not exploit the vulnerability of people.