"What starts as a home, ends as a coffin," One of the writings told,
Scratched and scarred pages contemplating the what ifs and how so's,
The pleading gold eyes and wary smile, reflecting all of what she wrote,
That's when I knew exactly what I'd to do to fix the last nail in our home.
Walking to her sanctuary, she sat in the library, like a story to be unfold,
But my musings were interrupted by my friend, and her pursuer – a tangled trope,
Flaunting her like an achieved trophy, that looked odd in his hold,
Nonetheless she gleamed at us, and all the buried lies were told.
"I'm Desirée," she forced, as if she wasn't always on my mind,
But her pursuer had a way with her, except that he was unappreciative every single time.
They both were like two lines in a free verse that just couldn't rhyme,
And with opposite meanings, one on a treasure hunt, and the other, a buried crime,
That's when it clicked, and I knew exactly what thread to undo,
That'll get the relationship crumbling between the two,
All I hoped for was not to get lost in the hunt, forgetting the real defining clue,
That I was to cherish what I had instead of running after another accomplishment to-do.
YOU ARE READING
TogetHER On Pages Of HIStory
PoesíaA verse novel that weaves through the woes and wonders of life and experiences - metaphoric to love. It redefines finality to the point that it becomes more like a beginning to second chances. Chase is determined to get her, despite knowing the imp...
