Hurt, is the fostered child of love
born at high sea
in the winds of August
Hurt lived to tell the tale
Hurt, is the surviving third degree burns
from holding on tightly
to love's burning flame
Tragic; the eternal optimist, love is
Love is ever promising
- despite everything -
Love, is its own worst enemy
Love dies believing
in what could have been
Love dies in hope, love itself
dies holding on, oftentimes
never letting go, love dies
of a broken heart
It's a sad day when love dies
from unmet expectations
of two people with good intentions
arteries beating assumptions
opaque selective disclosures
and jealousies hard to reconcile
each shaping the other
like pieces of clay
for we both felt we loved
and saw things the same way
yet love dies in different colors
in both our eyes, that have come
to see culprits in each other
where you and I once flew
a bright kite we called love
It's a sad day, when love dies
for even in the September rains
love dies a thirsty rose
riddled with thorns, bearing
little to no petal;
-
May the good coming rains
wash all hurt's tears away
-
Author:
Garth Rakumakoe (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 18th, 2023 07:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Alan R
Offline)
Comments7
unable to sleep, I have been up for most of the night here in the UK, and at 05.00 a.m. BST
I have so far read and enjoyed two outstanding poems .. this is exactly one half of that whole amount .. Neville
Accept my gratitude, dear Nev... This piece wrote itself in many ways. To love is to hurt at times my friend. We live, learn, and strive to grow, and become wiser. It was one of those avenues. Sleep and blessings to you, from my window of the world friend. 🙏🏼
It had mattered not, if this poem was penned out of Love or Hurt. It is written with care in every descriptive stanza. Very exquisite…
I cannot express my appreciation enough... Words fail me. Thank you for understanding it, and for the appreciation. 🙏🏼
Great poem o like how you have expressed yourself in this
It’s sad yet I especially like these lines
each shaping the other
like pieces of clay
where you and I once flew
a bright kite we called love
May the good coming rains
wash all hurt's tears away
Love the mention of that bright kite
Very kind words vb... Thank you so much. 🙏🏼
Perfectly penned, Garth. This poem needs no explanation. Every emotion of a dying love is aptly described. Great piece.
Thank you so much... Much much reciprocated gratitude.
for even in the September rains
love dies a thirsty rose...
🙏🏼
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