Dear Maia, Early morning bird songs, The poet, she'll never feel clean. Mon chéri, what a devastating beauty. When a poet falls in love, The weeping willow bears witness to it all. She will love, she will cry, she will love again, and she will cry. She would sit beneath the tree, And let the swooshing of the wind, Lull her into a deep slumber. Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, The wind relentlessly blows, Awakening her weary soul, Like the tortured poet's tortured love. Her pain, too real, She runs from town to town. Whispers, whispers, whispering, Of words like, "Have you not heard? she's deranged" She let it pass because they don't know her past, But their words shatter her like a wine glass. She was a victim of tangled hearts. Thunder rattled her ground, It was dark, her heart was about to fail, it was bound. As she looked at her wound, A message to catastrophe from chaos, she found. She ran around the world without a sound, To seek the girl with a bullet wound. That ends the story of the life of Ziggy. She should have sought her malady's remedy. Rest in peace, she would have loved erasure poetry. Love, Roussetta - A series of poems reflecting on love, pain, remorse, anger, growth, and nostalgia, but primarily centering on the theme of heartbreak. Date Started: July 23, 2024 Date Ended: Status: In Progress
35 parts