Bleeding between the lines

~

 

His words,

once a celebration of love,

poetic affection,

written from the deepest

part of his heart

for her,

 

are now

nothing more than

creased and torn

pages of empty verses

shoved in the back pocket

of his worn-out jeans

 

Ink bleeding between

the lines of a man

who believed he mattered,

only to find that he is

as insignificant

as his writings,

 

a forgotten poet,

a dried up pen in hand,

scratching sad poetry

on a lonely sidewalk between

the cracks of his life,

etchings of who he has become

 

~

Author's Note

Some days.....

Reviews

[Zoe Richardson]

I think we all feel this way. It helps to remember that poetry is the art of saying that for which there are no words. It is capturing snapshots of emotion and letting them live on the page. People don't define your significance. You do. And your writing can never be mere scratchings!

[willweb]

Thanks so much Zoe. When the heart is broken, we tend to see things differently than they actually are.

[DIVYA]

I know this feeling some days....
We feel none of it matters and least of all our poetry.
And yet, we must pick up our pieces and our pens and face another day.
A heart-breaking poem. So relatable.

[willweb]

That so much my friend. I am happy you stopped by for a visit.

[DIVYA]

Always a pleasure.