He inked the words, his heart indebted
grinding the pen against the page
until each word was embedded
need, love, passion, hope, longing, and rage
then, he left them to grow brittle, broken with age
yet, all the while he didn't know
each emotion reached her soul
he branded her flesh with his name
with each word he wrote
did he even know
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Author:
8Blackwidow8 (
Offline) - Published: July 21st, 2026 09:57
- Category: Love
- Views: 23
- Users favorite of this poem: A.N., sorenbarrett, Teddy.15, Carlos Alberto BUSTILLOS
Offline)
Comments3
How often we are not heard or understood. A most intriguing piece of communication where intent is often lost a fave
Thanks Soren. I appreciate your time commenting. 🙂
You are most welcome
I'm 51 I'm a woman and I've been writing about my first love whome I met at the age of 17, for 20 years, along with my poems about marriage which of most are hilarious, my first love was a traumatic experience yet left me with a fabulous piece of experience and I never regret not look back with any wish that it wouldn't have ended because I am who I am today because of that chapter. ❤️
We are near in age. I hear you there my friend.
💜
Interesting rhyme scheme. Like a love letter gone wrong.
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