Hot Stove
There's steam on the window from the hot stove,
dripping sweat from my head reveals my pain-
down the crooked driveway in haste you drove,
now only bitter eyes and hearts remain.
Five thousand wars have come, more to arrive,
with no truce in sight I shan't become healed-
I've been trying to break free and survive,
tears flowing down my face, my eyes are sealed.
Like a pin prick to my heart, I was high,
my strong opium that brought addiction-
then one sad day you decided to fly,
in the rental of my heart, eviction.
Now no one can save this broken winged soul-
I'm just a hot stove without its charcoal.
April 30, 2018
Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2018
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