A Broken Poet

A broken heart can do no harm to a poet’s hand

So far away it’s from his burning mind

Removed from all of that he’s feeling

He weeps at a single reminder of the one who isn’t here

And with a pen dipped in his tears

He writes away, uncaring of the clock, unmindful of candles burning low

His grief so passionate, so true

His hand so subtle and so sure

He bares his soul for her to see

Painted with every word is him, without her near

At reading his words would she ever weep, hang her head in shame

If she’ll ever read those words at all

Unmindful of his situation, she’s moved on

And so the subtle hand keeps writing

The broken heart no longer pumping 

Reviews

[alan peter kelly]

beautifully melancholic...written as though you know the poet intimately which I suppose you do...only you have exchanged the gender for the sake of this write...am I right? Probably not ha ha...this is delicate and evokes a sense of blue tranquility within this old soul...splendid...I hope you produce more work on this site for I will surely read it...

[Nadia Vincent]

Thank you Alan so much for such a beautiful comment, and I am very glad that I've been able to produce something with some tranquillity in it.
At first I just had an image of a man sitting at a desk, dying candles and scrolls all over the place, and him deeply hurt inside, it was a very romantic image and then I added my own past feelings to it to make it more personable and tada! =]