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Hold Back Your Harsh Judgement

Until you’ve accepted your own dark heart

By Colleen Millsteed Published 4 years ago • 1 min read
Image courtesy of Pixabay

She wanders the halls of your nightmares,

At times adding to your terror, your nightly dose of fear,

However there are times she’ll show you kindness,

And she will hold your hand when she is near.

***

Do her wrong, I would suggest you don’t,

She’ll have you locked in tight every night,

There’ll be no forgiveness,

Revenge will be heightened to your nighttime sight.

***

She’ll drench you in red,

Just when you feel the worst is over,

As you have no idea at the lengths she will bestow,

Disguised as a friendly takeover.

***

You believe you know the meaning of life,

The reason the moon raises her pretty head,

The tides of your emotions stifled,

Until that moment you finally climb into bed.

***

Don’t get me wrong,

She is made up of more than revenge and terror,

She can also be happiness personified,

And understanding when you fail in error.

***

Her heart is a combination of love and darkness,

Locked solid except for those very few,

It would take a miracle of ecstasy,

To see her open her heart for you.

***

That doesn’t mean you should be wary of the attempt,

Once in you’ll be cupped lovingly, your soul learning of her gift,

Just handle with care, as you would with anything you treasure,

Deliberately cause her destruction and you’ll see her horror is extremely swift.

***

Do not judge her harshly,

Not until you’ve searched your soul as deeply,

Once you acknowledge your own heady darkness,

Only then can you love her completely.

If you liked my writing, please click on the small heart underneath, near my name. Or send me a tip and let me know you enjoyed it.

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Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.

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Originally posted on Medium

surreal poetry

About the Creator

Colleen Millsteed

My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.

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    Written by Colleen Millsteed