Dying Love

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Dying Love

The fire burns my fingertips,

The wind blows tears from my eyes.

There’s coldness on my face,

My limbs are numb,

My cheeks are frozen.

I cannot move,

For when I try

The pain is unbearable.

I’ve been here since he said.

‘Stay here, I’ll be right back.’

He has not returned.

Did he leave me behind?

Does he not care about me?

Should I die for love?

My eyes are blurred,

My mind’s a blank.

Around me things are swirling,

Making me dizzy.

The lights go out,

No longer do I feel pain.

No longer do I exist.

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Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.

ABogart’s Poems (8)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Life 0
Children of the Night 1
Former Glory 0
The things that I love 2
Dying Love 0
A Child’s Prayer 0
Lonely Child 0
Show No Mercy 0