Sunday Morning, 2 a.m. Poem, by Allan Fitzgerald, at My poetic side

I'd like to say I'm over it,

That all my wounds have healed.

But certain thoughts leave me restless,

To ponder late into the night

In all this time you cross my mind,

Though I rarely wish you did.

I've even found myself in love again,

Yet memories of you still linger.

I cannot say with certainty,

If these thoughts are pondered innocent.

For if I sat and thought enough,

I'd deduce they exist in scorn.

You can deny this all you please,

But I know what is the truth.

Your thoughts of me still burn with love,

And it burns that I don't love you.

Comments +

Goldfinch60 August 6th, 2017 02:24
Good emotive write.
burning-embers August 6th, 2017 02:34
I hope writing about the issue helps the subconscious let go.
Louis Gibbs August 6th, 2017 11:01
A fine introductory poem, Allan. Welcome to MPS, and I look forward to more!

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