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