The moon
shares my secrets
drops its
crescent blood
on my
calloused hands
as I dig and
dig away
Shall I
ponder
that six feet
under,
a soul is
awake,
floating in
Death’s rivers,
along with
dreams
that could
not and could have been ?
There, the
Devil may laugh
and I may
weep, but
neither
prayer nor grave
can keep them
from drowning.
It’s
hearbreaking,
isn’t it?
These phony
romantics
who love
without
actually loving.
And it’s
tearing my soul
they don’t
make it
like this
anymore:
just heart-
to- heart,
real and raw
and right
to the bone
Now, it’s
just
one- night
emotions that
fade away
and midnight
kisses that
melt with the
sunrine.
( maybe I’m
wrong.)
( maybe they
never made it
this way to begin with.)
After a while,
I let it consume
me,
fickle into
ashes
of the
forgotten dreams
and the vanished
hopes…
But I realized
they were already
a part of me,
And the fire
only buried
them deeper,
into the
abyss of
my very heart and soul.
We are romatics
living in a world
that cannot hold romantics.
so we hide eternity in
the secret corners of our tongues
hoping only one day to spill it out.
Your love is my comfort
Your words are my muse
can't you see ?
You. You are my poetry.
This is our sweet lovely granddaughter
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