Scrawls Of Heartbroken Stillness

I turn the leaves of my old diaries. Wherein my passions and anxieties Together with your dried rose petals, sleep. They savor your scent and bitterly weep. Our glances, touches, cuddles, and kisses Fun-filled, playfully hopping-mad hisses Our desires, dreams, hopes, and aspirations Did all these, like sheds, have no foundations? Creeds and credos weren't causes for our split. What's the root of our emotional rift? You left me as though I were a stranger. Did I not guard you from every danger? I wandered as though a mad man for long. You refused to hear this nightingale's song. I went on mending my shattered spirit. What could I esteem as my true merit? I had, indeed, moments of happiness. My diaries have scrawls of soft stillness. Yet, a pain, like a sword, pierces my heart. I feel as though my soul is torn apart.