A Backhanded Love Song
It's never the memories,
It's that hoarde of feelings
Leaves me empty of tears now,
Until my eyes are like stones,
And my heart a fist pulped in its beating,
And all my hard-headed sense
Nothing but sharp, broken pieces.
So understand, my love,
The thought of you means nothing -
The passion is mine. Alone.
poem by J.P. Dullahan (24 January 2009, London)
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
