A town awakes
To a butterscotch

From hotel and
Apartments in
Western Europe,
she tells her friends
and others who listen,

"I'm from Tupelo, honey,
My father loathes
Me for the person
I've become."

A town works
And plays
To a Southern
Comfort tempo.

Four page letters
"lost in transit".
Unopened dreams
And playground poems,

Discarded gifts
From tortured
Bloodlines. Shattered
Hopes dying
In a twisted bed.

A hungry woman
On suppression.
Ever open hearts
On sleeves
That weep.

"Touch me not,
for I have much
to hurt you. Save
yourself from
this love so rare.

Tell me I'm right,
not a tainted angel.
Caress my emotions
On this switchback ride"
A small town
Sleeps to a lemon
Peel moon.
You can e-mail Paul with any comments you have about his work.
All the Authors work is copywrited and may not be used without express permission from said author
Tupelo Honey
Paul Suckling
The Fire Inside
Paul Suckling
She has crossed
into hushed insanity
of another heaven
Her Dreams tossed
like pebbles
into the darkness.

Yesterday, I watched
as Mother Earth
another of her

A little of that
which is me
goes with her
to the ground

her soul burns.
For the dead live
by love.

'The Fire Inside'
can be found in
'Hidden Statistics'
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