A poem in reverse.

Purple prose, flowered language
intricate allusions to bittersweet tings
remind me of hidden truths.
Intuition guides me beyond,
into the realm of your dream.
You cringe, twist away,
afraid to reveal truths unspoken,
but I view them anyway
and return hard truth in turn.
Beauty left implied
in simple words
seem to reach you.
Or perhaps they fall,
lame,
before deaf ears,
refusing to hear
a poem in reverse.

Part 3

What do you want from me?
You draw me in,
held tight,
and whisper in my ear
sweet nothings,
"Leave."
I have no course,
no bearing,
and you leave me lost.
What is my path?
How do I move beyond
when all paths lead back
to you.
So instead I charge
forward
into your arms
and embrace
fate.

Iscariot

What goes around
comes around,
but only in hand grenades
and harm.
It doesn't matter
what you give,
only that you pay
for what you've done
tenfold.
The good earn their reward:
a rotten tree
and a hemp rope,
and we wonder
why they hang
or spin
and try to get their
thirty silver coins.