I have nothing left to write or to say;
The days saunter past secluded and dull;
And seasons filter with no fruitful stay,
Covering the wizened mind with a lull.
Love is all duty: all succinct and right,
It is almost clinical and pristine,
Like some haloed saint standing within light;
Who is correct, kind, practical and clean.
Outward, my life gleams and I look the part;
I cast envy. They say, I have it all…
If only they could see the heavy heart
And the scabbed knees after every fall.
I’m tired; seen so much; I have had my run
I’ve paid my dues; I am sated; I’m done.
Tag: poemblog
Old Song
I heard an old song
Sing its pain;
It reminded me
Of us again.
Old songs do that:
Sifting their tune,
Cradled on lost stars
And a forgotten moon.
The words aren’t the same:
They are rusty hooks
And dried old flowers
In dusty books.
It always befalls
That the singer is me;
And what we were
Becomes his melody.
It’s three minutes
Of our past;
Yet, it’s these three
That will last.
Undying
You said you wouldn’t leave;
You promised me lies;
You said many things
Like “love never dies”;
You spoke; and I believed;
I was a fool; a fool am I;
I lived to own truth
And prove love can never die.



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