We spoke of love and romance fell above.
In a pessimistic locale were i thought endearment was below par.
You saw flowers in nook other limits to peer on.
Instructed me to grew vast fondness in your existence.
Silently suppressing the thorns of doubt in admiring you.
You were a demur and an astonishing bliss; a work of art.
A blessing in disguise.
We grew romance in a tick of time.
Lost it in descisions that matter on the line.
Ended up with scenes I did not devise.
Now i'm in the wake of being a ravaged fool example of love.
Where i nevermore fancied.
I let your flame burn upon my flimsy arms.
In lucidity of being blinded by the guile of lust.
Naked without your refuge.
Touched with my concurrence.
Forced with my dumbfounded heart.
Left without the innocence of lust.
Now seeking and hopelessly in love with the memory,
An echo from our held admiration.
Desiring to recede and make it condign.
Shamed by my loathsome mistake.
But missing the feeling of you being mine.
Craving you every hour in everyday.
Yearning that I never should have let you go.
Our pathways met but seldom cross.
Once let you go, now lost.
How sunshine steals from autumn frost.
My eyes averted to yours.
Searching for a droplet from our past.
In case of wildfire swirling in your eyes.
I traced a raindrop with my finger on a window pane.
Perfectly inligned with the tears made by the pain.
Thinking of you and our final goodbye.
Wishing it was all just a lie.
Shedding a tear on every memory I come across.
Your scent.
Your touch.
Your everything.
Experiencing the wrath of loneliness.
When I get to love you in my dreams but getting to wake up alone.
I'm slowly dozing off.....
Body craving from the serenity of sleep and staying asleep.
Realizing that goodbyes doesnt have to hurt this much.
But whats hurting is clinging into the past.
Seeing you in somebody elses arms may hurt but I let them by letting you go.
Its been 7 months and I wish I could get over it as much as you did.
But I guess no matter
how many tears I shed,
how many words I express,
and how many poems I make;
won't bring the fact that your gone and that I let you go.
.
.
.
-angel
________
