We stumble and tumble and fall in love
With the people that will never be ours
And we can't pray for there is naught above;
Wretched souls don't rest with higher powers.
So all we may do is ache away hours,
Pretend that it could ever be enough.
When a mind becomes enthralled, fixated
Upon an object of grand perfection,
Proximity can leave one elated,
Distance can steep one into dejection.
But the truest pain comes from rejection
That will leave a heart bloodied, deflated.
The dark hours of night are for yearning,
And the morning is a time of sorrow
When all the while your being is burning
And the fire has left your chest so hollow.
Yet despite pain there remains the morrow
And so of love there will be no spurning.
YOU ARE READING
An Ongoing Anthology of Poetry
PoesíaThis is a collection of the poetry that I have written and been writing since around about October 2018. Naturally, not every poem has been of a decent enough standard to be included here, but the ones that have been included are the ones that I lik...
