A heart what more could be desired,
A symbol of live, a symbol of love,
Is this the only thing that tethers the souls?
What are we if not flesh and bones,
A carcass made for crows,
To take it and taste its blood,
To crave it and enjoy its love,
Many a heart has killed:
From young poets to people with illness aswim,
Betrothed and lovers, affairs and duress,
To all it causes great distress,
A heart is needed, a heart is expected,
Leave the unloyal to fester its heathens,
We are nothing without it, no meaning to be found,
Will this pain it causes ever be unbound.
A darkness resides in the nooks of its corners,
Like a deadly disease it spoils cruel and rotten,
Should one shake hands and carry its burden,
His heart shall have a terrible warden,
Locked from love, locked from pleasure,
All is forbidden that which we treasure,
Let it shrivel in its own meaningless existence,
Where once roamed warmth now reigns resilience,
We're all victims here, prisoners of its allure,
Sent to live a dreary life,
A living to mourn,
Could a heart be something other than pure,
Even with its deadly corruptness, its gift from above,
Let a heart rest where it will,
We are nothing without it, cadavers unable to feel.
YOU ARE READING
Old Love
PoetryA love story left unfinished, where hearts lay strained and emotions run strung. A book containing poems on the meaning of unrequited love, of broken hearts and of tears cried bitterly waiting for that someone to show themselves knowing they never w...
