Mournfully, My Heart Bleeds
I've written of great longing while my teardrops flare
Rhyming lines of sorrow that were nested in my mind
Tomes of poetry that exposed the depth of my despair
Now, my heart lies withered; to its fate I am resigned.
My sonnets are all testaments to the love, now haunted,
decaying on yellowed pages, they make my heart bleed.
It languishes with pitiful sighs, ignored and unwanted
like my dust-laden poetry that I will never again read.
Verses were woven tapestries, a lovingly stitched story,
Remnants of us left threadbare, colors dull and faded.
Time cannot repair moldered love to it's former glory.
Ours lies buried in a grave; rotting because it's jaded.
Love spills its final drop as I gasp for another breath.
From this mortal wound, my afflicted soul is bereaving.
I've one last poem to pen, in refrain before my death
about the broken part of me, still mournfully grieving.
September 22, 2020
Quatrain Writing Challenge - Decay
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Copyright © Jenna Logan | Year Posted 2020
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