There Will Be Substitutes
and for him to be alive for another year
he takes the substitutes for such absence
he justifies
this absence shall make my heart grow fonder
he looks at himself in the mirror
and feels the gloss of the glass on his face
the pain is there and it may subside a little bit
but it is there and it has always been there
and it will always be there
always
the substitutes heal the surface and makes a scar
the real pain inside keeps piercing
to the bottom
always and it has always been there
like a cancer of love always, always creeping, growing
there is no cure
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.