Battered Love

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  • Love
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  • Passion

    Battered Love

    I held your bloodied face in my hands,
    Placed it in my bosom,
    First time I found peace with you.

    You strangled our love long ago,
    Battered my heart every time,
    Every time you fell on your knees,
    And I saved our tottering love.
    You sold my love for a meager sum,
    Even then my heart lingered round you.

    But this time you went too far,
    I looked for a semblance of my dream,
    And my hands turned up empty,
    I stood up in the pool of blood,
    And stared at your blank eyes.
    Did I see the hope I'd tended?

    I lifted your bloodied face in my hands,
    Placed it my bosom.
    This time your breathe pierced thru' my bosom.

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    Poetry is what is lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    abraham’s Poems (40)

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