I carry you around with me,
A pebble in my shoe,
A backpack heavy with regrets,
An invisible blade stuck in my chest,
A blood stain on my conscience,
A wound in my memory,
Through which images and scenes seep through,
Remnants from better times,
When you and me,
The two of us,
Shared a romantic friendship,
When you, not by saying yes,
But by not saying no,
Kept me coming back to you,
And I, like a giddy moth around a dazzling flame,
Spun dizzily around you,
Tickling you with the current from my wings,
Flying close but not too close,
Lest I should burn.
18 thoughts on “The Aftertaste of Sorrow”
I feel you are one of the best poets today …xx
Oh, what a polite exaggeration! Thank you for your continuous support, Meg (call I call you that?).
Of course you may Vincentiu ! … it’s what my friends call me . Peace and joy to you beautiful poet …
This is beautiful!
I do believe your recent misadventure is excellent fuel for a hot fire. Keep writing your sorrow….
I will do so, Elouise.
Thank you, Vincentiu!
Amazing! Visit my blog: http://www.petitepopy.wordpress.com
Absolutely perfect. Sending you all my best wishes!. Aquileana 😀
Reblogged this on psychoticbehavior.
May I ask if you are still working on your book about the moonbeamed painter? Just curious.
Yes Walt. I finished it earlier this year but now I am rewriting it.
Good for you. I will be looking for it when you feel it is ready.
Your poem describes past love exactly. The good news that we learn is that the pebble eventually falls out, the backpack lightens, and the wound scars if you tear out the knife. The hardest part is getting rid of the knife.
Pretty good for an almost poem 😉
Reblogged this on carmendare and commented:
This is amazing…