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A Confession of Sorts
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Love Or Lack Of It
A Confession of Sorts
It was just a conversation.
Nothing special had been said.
She painted at her easel,
Talking softly on it lead.
He mentioned how the music
Playing low had made him sad.
He said if he were stronger,
He'd re-live the fun he'd had.
She asked, "You'd really leave here?"
His answered, "Yeah!" came fast.
He never knew he'd hurt her,
Her face a stoic mask.
"So the only thing that keeps you
Is the fact that you're not well?"
Her heart began to question,
As her mind began to tell,
"I'm just a sad replacement
For the fun you really crave.
And I thought I had found a love
That would see me to my grave."
The joy that had been glowing
Departed on the spot.
She felt misused, deflated.
And loved? Well, maybe not.
I've tried to tell her since then
That she mistook his jest,
But she has zero self-esteem,
And fear gives her no rest.
So she'll let past hurt dog her
Until she is convinced,
That she will never find real love.
All life is now past tense.
He stumbles now as watching
He sees the grief she hides,
And wonders what has happened
To his lovely smiling bride.
beautiful poem..really shows how fragile we all can be
Dear Jessica,
It has been a little while since I visited your Hall. I am so glad that I picked today to visit. Each title I have chosen has seemed to speak directly to me. Your words are so lovingly put to the page and your subjects reach to every heart. A very talented lady you are! ~Lesa~
Wow, powerful writing...hope it helps your friend. :)Hugs, Melissa