The Hurt
My colorless pit
bellows with a savage anger
for the girl I knew
an italian flower
from our loves grace
her warm eyes once caressing
a moment as I pass by
why so surprised?
with my own eyes
someone else makes her fly,
oh deep inside,
old and familar.
but tears are they not,
then why am I in a knot.
Once upon a time
running wild through my mind
Copyright © Ron Flatow | Year Posted 2006
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