Pages From My Yesterdays
This morning, I opened a drawer to my yesterdays
of crumpled poems half written, but thought I'd tossed
Here I am, reading them, through a tearful haze,
and remembering nights I wept for love I had lost
I flattened the pages, one by one with fingers shaking
A sonnet pledging love was abandoned, unfinished
My breathing was shallow; doleful heart was quaking
It's passionate memories were not quite diminished
On this note, the ink was much too blurred to read
where tear stains had fallen when I tried to explain
the despair that caused my fragile emotions to bleed
and pain in verses that I'd written in aching refrain
My wrinkled sheafs were an army of aborted thoughts
Awaiting me to deploy them; their orders still pending
Pens are mighty, but they cannot heal broken hearts
Some poems are not destined to have a happy ending
"Why not finish them?" asked my consoling muse
That's a burdensome endeavor that I simply cannot do
"Forgive me," I voiced, "but I must respectfully refuse"
Love ended, and there's nothing poetic left to pursue
There's no war to fight, and I moved on from my plight
My wrinkled paper soldiers would not go in the trash
I placed them on a funeral pyre. A match, I did light
and watched as burning embers turned them to ash
June 27, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 5 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
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