one day, the tears i've shared,
the blood of my hearthaving spilled upon pages,
my soul having left its scent,
will the eyes of whom
these words intended
lament over having waited
too long to read the words
i so wished to share ?
maybe posthumously my words
will be gathered, by chance shewill read about my heart and
my soul's disquiet.
until then i shall go on, continue
marry my heart and my tears with thewords of my soul on pages upon
pages till ink runs dry and then
i shall scratch with finger nails
on walls, my words, a telling of
my love exceeds the bounds of pages
where it is writ and the lines
of love reside
I sure feel these lines, my friend. My family rarely reads my work and I keep thinking one day, after I am gone, maybe they will then pick up my poems and finally find out who I really was.
ReplyDeletei know mi amiga. had to write this as a catharsis
Deletegracias for visiting
Marco, I lost your email address when I upgraded my system......would you please email me at wildwoman2@shaw.ca ? I have a question to ask.........thanks, kiddo.
DeleteYour beautiful words are not lost. Anyone reading this one will remember it.
ReplyDeleteYou have readers here, but I do know that very few IRL people ever read my words.
ReplyDeleteSuch a heartfelt write..!
ReplyDeleteAhhhhh. Sad. But the kind of endless sad that Romanticists love to write about, forever yearning. I think this narrator will fall in love with his scratchings and thrive.
ReplyDelete