Like Prickly thorns on a rose
Grimly, waiting before a death
The struggles to make our ends worthy
The dreary wait to see her once again
My weary eyes longing to meet hers again
This wait is no stranger to me, not to any silent lover
It is beauty to observe
The time we spend is all I will have to my fear
Those stairs have heard her stories along with me
That road has walked with us together
Those drops witnessed her beauty with me
And the corridors will remember me walking away every time
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Comments1
I really commend your artistic effort
a wonderful blend of modernism's
bluntness
and almost Shakespearean, romance
in your chosen poetic flow and wording..
indeed, unrequited or rather
unconfessed love, is a heavy burden
to carry with us in life
that niggling, 'what if' of regret
stays with us for a long time
and since you're still writing
of corridors, maybe
its not too late
on that last day, maybe write
something lovely
like these words you've shared
and slip it into her/his/other
pocket or bag
insure you sign your name
and although it may not change
a damn thing
trust me, decades later
when you reminisce
or randomly remember
you'll feel better for having
placed your bet
upon that roulette of fate..
lol
(or I'm completely wrong
still, your call - flip a coin)
😎
Your comment is a symphony of humor and sage advice, a delightful concoction that tickles my poetic soul. Your suggestion to slip a lovely note into the object of my affections' pocket or bag is positively mischievous!
Your comment, dear wordsmith, has brought a smile to my face and a chuckle to my heart. I thank you for your quirky insight and the delightful image you've painted in my mind. Let us embrace the unpredictability of life and love, and with a coin toss in hand, may we find our own poetic endings. 😎
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