HIS LOST LOVE By christina Doelitzsch

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  • starrlove
  • Writing comes from within..and it is a part of you the moment you breathe life into it.℠ ®

Poem Commentary

I create from a place deep within, when someone steals your words it is as if you have been speared....wounds that go unhealed as the pain of what was a part of you seeps into the ethers of time.

HIS LOST LOVE By christina Doelitzsch

Alas fair maiden as you slumber sweet, I can still feel the sweltering warmth of a heartbeat that has faded
A sound so distant yet you hear the immortal cries as it carries through the winds of time.

I shall watch as the ancient times turn your porcelain skin to dust. Aging as a ripened wine, unable to drink of it but the taste forbidden for it is in your shell that the remnants of a fruited life remain.

Alone in the darkened tomb encased with memories of color and light.

What is such a life that one day will be forgotten as the others walk among the land commencing their duties day by day.

If they had only known such a life I wonder if they too could go on for I as I sit by your side cannot.
Reaching down into the depths of a place where I know you are yet so unable to take your hand.

How does one go on when the life that has held one together has dissipated unto the ether's.
Do you see the once magical moments of this life that has passed.
Now only desires and the silent weeping are left as I sit by your side in hopes of holding that hand once more, but I fear if I shall pull you from the concubines of sleep your eternal beauty will crumble before my eyes and there will be nothing more for me to gaze upon.

sleep my beauty, for one day the kiss of life will one day awaken your parched lips as I alone now must walk as the others do until the hours of time connect so that we may be together once again.


COPYRIGHT 2008 TD CREATIONS

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When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

John F. Kennedy (1917-1963) Thirty-fifth President of the USA