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Julita Hirman Poem
Most days, I feel a wrenching feeling in my heart.
A feeling so biting, my mind lost touch of reality.
Why do I feel, that time is taunting me?
I make sure, always, that my pace is matching time but you, darling, are always far left behind.
I reach out for your hand and hold it tight, as I should. But you are always slipping away. Away from me.
What are you running from, my love?
But you are not running.
Then why couldn't I hold your hand?
Wrong.
Why wouldn't you let me hold your hand?
Wrong again.
Why won't you hold mine?
Walk with me, dearest, along with time.
I love, love, love you. Time be my witness for the love I sowed for you. My love grows with time. Always, till forever meets the end of time.
You love me.
Do you not?
You love me.
Wrong.
You have loved me.
Wrong again.
You love me always, but your love stays still in the past.
Mine grows, but yours stay still. Mine shows, but yours were shown. Mine is echoing, yours were whispered. Mine is as alive as the beating of hearts, yours lingered like ghosts.
Mine and yours.
My love for you. Your love for me.
Time is taunting me again.
Me, with the mist of your love. You, with the warmth of my love.
Mist and warmth.
The ticking of time is taunting.
Darling.
Your mist and my warmth.
The ticking is rattling my ground.
Darling, please.
Your mist disappears with my warmth.
Time knows, long before the truth becomes a denial.
Our forever ends here.
Copyright © Julita Hirman | Year Posted 2023
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Details |
Julita Hirman Poem
Alas I understood
that anger isn't crimson.
Anger is dark, as dark as it can be.
Darker than sorrows, or even lust.
And it doesn't grow in your veins
or linger in your bones.
Anger is an embrace.
An embrace so welcoming,
it feels forgivable.
And yet your pardon is taken,
from those whose pain you drink.
Your reasons for the cause
is a reason for their deaths.
Yet again, it wouldn't be anger
if you don't intend to kill.
Copyright © Julita Hirman | Year Posted 2023
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