Love Is
Love is a couple still holding hands even after fifty years,Boldy hearing the doctors bad news, wiping away each others tears.
Love, is cursing God, for not hearing your hardest prayers,
To take your life, and strike it down in the place of theirs.
Love is not knowing visiting hours, and sleeping in a hard old chair,
Believing that somehow they will pull through, knowing you are there.
Love is the conversation, even though there is never a response,
Never giving a damn what people thought, not even once.
Love is the sick, cold feeling, when the beeping finally stops,
And squeezing them so tightly, somehow believing they are not.
Love is that plate at the table, in the departeds spot,
And begging death to take your weary soul, with a final shot.
Love is dying of a broken heart, not six months after her death.
Love is being layed side by side, now eternally to rest.
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