My muse

bye, 'til we stare each other's eyes again

I can't promise this will be the last,

my words-keep haunting on my subject-

the muse, the art,

the byline of my poem.

To utter love's unpreparedness

and not pursuing the created

oath and happiness-

are words spilled in empty

and crashes through the soul

that once been so glee

Oh! greatest heavens,

I plead in your name;

My man

will bid farewell and stop it if you may

Whisper in him,

that I'll be his lady, forever will.

Tell the seraphs in heavens

that my dreams include him

To my man,

my greatest sorrow were released by tears,

Find yourself, while I do

Fulfill your dreams like how I wish it too

I could not stop you,

only time will tell

Find the courage in words beheld upon

my fingers that caress your hair

While I, sane, from all your stares.

Again, see you my love,

and by then, I hope it's not too late,

to ripped out my heart

and release the love unheard.

Reviews

[Laz K.]

"I can't promise this will be the last,"
I can promise you that it definitely will not be the last. When someone's heart is ripped out, like you say in this poem, it might take many-many attempts to fill that hole with some sort of paste made of words, understanding, patience and acceptance. It might never be filled, and that means many more heartfelt poems. It is as if the gods have decided that we are to suffer terribly because of love, but they gave us poetry so that we may not die of the pain.

[alphawoman]

Thanks for reading and giving your thoughts about my poem, I really do appreciate it 😊