Terza Rima: Heartbreak O'Clock
At the stroke of midnight, he asks to meet,
As thoughts of young love turn to sickening dread,
I draw near his form at the end of the street.
He looks and he stares, his green-eyed gaze dead,
Once more not noticing me, looking right through,
As he opens his mouth, my heart drops like lead.
I know which words come next, "It's me, not you,"
The blackness closes in as I fall into shock,
And when he asks, "Friends?", I know this can't be true.
I was Love's prisoner, trapped in the dock,
Now I'm being punished at Heartbreak O'Clock.
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Hopeful Hate and Broken Hearts Poetry Collection
PoesíaA series of thought-provoking and meaningful poetry - of the dark side of love, of the lightness of hatred, and of broken hearts - challenging all we believe to be clean-cut and black-and-white about two of the most pivotal things in our world today...
