Poem -

counting

This isn't what was meant to be said
These aren't words I was meant to write
It was supposed to be a love song
That was held onto with a smile
Instead it has a darker undertone
Like these words will drip slowly
Into pools of ink like tears or blood
And the paper itself will begin to cry
So my lips may quiver
And my eyes turn to liquid
But at least I'll have said what was needed
You weren't supposed to leave me like this
Where I can't touch you
Though I know you exist
Still running through my dreams
And taunting my sorrow
That smile that lingered on your mouth
I choose to remember
I cannot turn my back on you
I cannot watch you walk away
It is not that I simply won't
The act is just impossible
So when you think of me
And I know you will
Would you please tell me if your heart aches?
Tell me that part of your soul is missing
And that its because you left it with me
Your heart may be broken
But my heart feels it
I know there might be anger
Maybe though my tears can drown it
You know I was the water to your fire
That I could calm you with my words
For now I'll just count the lines that I write
Trying to give you your reason
A reason to live, love and forget
One Two Three till you return to me
Four Five Six without you I feel sick
Seven Eight Nine maybe tomorrow you'll be mine
And fall into a rhythm till it feels like a trance
Till my sould lives by a cadence
That you and I can dance to.

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Comments

author
Jimmy Arnold

Greetings Melinda,

Really enjoyed the reading of your works and many lines spoke with their own armored encrusted meanings, such as that of your tattered heart from your encounter  this is several of those lines, that not only captured my eye but also held some of your truest and most revealing feelings and secrets, as they were captured and with intentions, over spilled themselves on your canvass of their containment...Very pretty poem...And counting....

Sincerely,

Jim

Instead it has a darker undertone
Like these words will drip slowly
Into pools of ink like tears or blood
And the paper itself will begin to cry
So my lips may quiver
And my eyes turn to liquid
But at least I'll have said what was needed.

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