The Essence of Hurt
A Christmas tree is but a fake soon revealed,
for under the bling, a dead tree is concealed.
When a man sheds his thorns, is he not a rose
whose wilting inside, so his old wounds can close?
Anger rebuffs efforts to forgive the past,
a powder keg of emotions set to blast.
The core of my heart was shaken by deceit,
resonating betrayal with each heartbeat.
Deprived of your touch and the light of your soul,
leaves an emptiness that nothing can console.
And hope withers on the vine when the lies start;
devastating my heart as trust falls apart.
Struggling to deal with anxiety and strain,
my heart lies vanquished, abandoned to its pain.
And overwhelmed by hurt, I'm drowning in tears;
floundering in an ocean of daunting fears.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2017
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