17. December * a poem *

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this is not a love song

you know me
I’m an escort girl
and my heels prick the ice
like spikes

my brain is to amuse you
my mouth is to praise you
my sensuality keeps you warm
my sirens song whispers the way
and my heavenly scent
release you
in your endless days

but once a year
after the petals have wilted
and before the first snow starts falling
my voice raises into a gruesome howl
a song in a choir of grief that has to be made

sung for all my global mates
fallen and wounded in the battle of life
for their families and friends
on the 17th of december

We throw our fist in the air
from hands that always care
which stroke fluffy balls and weary heroes
by hands at arms to embrace
not made to held candles

We reaching out to the lost
extend the hands to their souls
our voices reach the sky
to commemorate those
who met their fate
which is not a really one at all

violence, stigma and murder
purely made by man
and their accomplice jurisdiction
and a brutal legislation
because „they“ disgrace the name of justice
not my mates

who lost their lives
in pursuit to bring happiness and adult fun
pure entertainment without obligation
by a service made with commitment and love
why this aversion and aggression against „us“?
what have we done?

© Ariane 2011


5 Kommentare on “17. December * a poem *”

  1. […] Ariane this is not a love song you know me I’m an escort girl and my heels prick the ice like spikes […]

  2. Great poem. Thanks for sharing.

  3. frossum2244 sagt:

    moving… thanks for writing and sharing!


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