The widow but not the bride
I am a blank visage with a solemn and Grim countenance that drags my attention to the depths of the hell that my heart and soul have created within my withdrawn and withering temple.
There is hope, yet my spirit is still broken and it’s pain constantly drains any inch of energy I may be able to manifest.
I am on my own.
still I sit alone, weak, lost, and shaky.
I think I’ve come to a point of carelessness.
My drive is gone.
My life astray, my lover has died.
“We loved with a love that was more then love” I should have been his bride! instead, by his blood, I was Cast aside, ridiculed, and to everyone they Lied.
Me, I now sit alone and think
“The widow but not the bride.”
Copyright © Stefani Leslie | Year Posted 2019
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