Oh, I think my feelings consumed me, the way fire consumes wood,
Couldn't believe these ashes could still catch fire just like a steady heart would,
Smoke emanating from remains of emotions where feelings once stood,
But, still not enough to smudge between our lines of should.
It was only the evidence that swirled our plotline,
But my confessions remained unanswered against the yellow sign,
Wanting and having felt like heteronyms, that just rhymed,
I somehow had to break free of the chains of our melody unaligned.
Twirling the glass flute, the tears of wine bleeding down,
How could I believe the glass was half full, when it had been sipped about?
It was the stained brim, the wine legs that left me in doubt,
That it was only half empty, when it wasn't refilled once downed.
To what extent of damage until something's unfixable?
Or how much more damage until it's replaceable?
Was this a sign to move on, move forward or be patient?
I had to look for a sign but in a different metaphor, so I picked up her journal.
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...
