The Dove

Oh, gentle dove which is my heart,

fly not to summer's bittersweet remembrance

lest my ribs which doth protect thee,

shatter with earthquakes of sobbing.


Oh, dear dove,

thou art but a fragile freedom

whose wings doth soar on the winds of love.

But when the winds doth cease,


Nothing stops thy plummeting fall.

Why didst we love the torrents 

of pain?

Whose sparrow-like frame did 


Shake with memories of loss and


Fly not now, my sweet little dove, 

summer's remembrance is still a bittersweet cruelty.

  • Author: Shadowbox15 (Offline Offline)
  • Published: November 14th, 2017 11:16
  • Comment from author about the poem: I still tell my heart to forget him.
  • Category: Love
  • Views:
  • Users favorite of this poem: angelinamc101, Accidental Poet.


  • angelinamc101

    Wow this is so beautifully written.

    • Shadowbox15

      Thank you! I’m glad that you enjoyed it.

    • Accidental Poet

      Beautifully written dialog with your heart. May your heart flourish in future endeavors.

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