Withered Rose
The pain cuts so deeply
I can’t hold on to what was
the beauty is gone,
my heart is hard and cold;
steeled against the pain.
The wanting is gone too
all I feel is numbness,
abandoned and alone;
I have finally quit hoping
for him to reach out.
I am exhausted;
weary of trying, and
something in me is dying.
Is this what love is?
being alone,
no one but me
to hear the sorry sound
of my crushed
and breaking heart.
Once I was young;
love was a blossom
like a fresh, new rose.
But oh innocence,
where now is your bloom.
When did it fade and wither,
plucked from love’s vine.
With hands so gentle
I thought he cared,
he severed me;
left me in a vase
where I died,
s-l-o-w-l-y,
bits of death
each day,
till finally . . .
I was at my end.
If only,
instead of seizing
youth and beauty,
he had stayed
and nourished the rose.
2007-11-10
12:34:38
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6 answers
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asked by
autumlovr
7
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry
Is this a poem or prose? not sure
2007-11-10
12:35:30 ·
update #1
maybe I should drop line 5 altogether
2007-11-10
12:50:23 ·
update #2