A Thing Called Love

Dependent on these things I called my own,

Devilishly held them much to close.

Now I am burned with affirmation,

That I should have just let them go.

 

Dare say that I am jealous?

When I am held down and shown such things,

As distorted images and metaphors,

Without doubt I would.

 

Blinded, love is with monotonous flowers,

Strained by glorious prose,

Though when shown reality,

There is a dusty layer above our heads.

 

The brevity of betrayal is just a matter of age,

Waiting for our due survival to end.

If you, or I, can stop these things,

Then perhaps there truly is a thing called ‘Love’.

Author's Note

Inspired by the play "King Lear" by Shakespeare. Where betrayal is the key element, and love is just a word used to gain power.

Apparently I'm on a Shakespearean kick. We're studying him in Brit Lit class, and I am hooked.

Reviews

[Jazique]

Nice very intereting poem the words, lines, and the ways its writting. Very creative and how you let it all flow in its own way. Not bad, well done you really do have a good style of writing.

[patricia]

You have really created a very impressive style with this Shakespear slant.
This is a brilliant poem. Those last two stanza were exceptionally good. Thankyou.

[jennifer little]

loved this poem i give u a 100 on the rating