Why do those we worry for
at times become an awful chore
when love is all they have in store?
So crippled by our own conceit
enfeebled hearts refuse to beat
with mercy for the indiscreet
that make the most forbearing cringe
as they impishly impinge
once heralded by squeaky hinge.
Perhaps we should be thankful for
those that choose to use our door
before they can come back no more.
Are You Reading Me?
9 comments:
Hey Bob, every now and then you turn on your heart light…it's glowing in this one. Very good.
It's sad that we don't appreciate what we have until something happens and we can't anymore, or something almost happens and then we do.
It's sad, but true.
i would never have understood the depth of meaning in this little poem had i not lost a love once,, and then the same love once again to death... surreal in its grasp....
Plain simple truth - put very nicely. Thanks.
Itis sad that often it takes a really serious loss, to make us really understand what is, and isn't, important in life.
~smj
Wow, I just wrote this same poem, kinda, from the other point of view, of sorts. kinda. in a way
anyhow, coincindence aside\
awesome write
awesome message
Hi Bob brilliant write, great!! :-)
You titled this one wonderfully.
What a sad poem bob. T_T
touched my heart...
have same poem but its more optimistic...
"silence spoke to me"
We just got the call that our friend was gone :(
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