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Ivan Zamora Poem
Morning comes. Wake up. Wake up
to the sound of bright, dry rain
falling. Hearts cannot stop.
Your memories always develop
In photographs I keep.-- can't keep sane.
Morning comes. Wake up! wake up!
I miss you... Your smell, the way your makeup
Stains my pillow every time. (Irrevocable pain
Falling, yet hearts cannot stop.)
Your mother hates me; "What a trollop
you've become! My poor daughter." She disdains.
Morning comes, wake up? Wake up?
The sun rains like a tear drop
Upon a face that contains
A falling heart that cannot stop.
Every morning, the tragedy continues to gallop
within the walls of my Vein, they still remain.
Morning comes. Wake up! Then wake up...
But fell hearts just cannot stop.
Copyright © Ivan Zamora | Year Posted 2009
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Details |
Ivan Zamora Poem
Merging threads of fate, our lives
Attached to one another. Gold, fame,
Jewels pouring like knights ramming the gates,
Entering, and conquering foreign, feeble lands. I
Surrendered myself to his love, hoping in
Time I would become his only Queen.
In love am I, fell have I by being
Courted by the King-- my King.
Copyright © Ivan Zamora | Year Posted 2009
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