Lines of Love
I wrote these lines of love, my dear,
Before the cold days of the war.
When you were near, so near, my dear;
When I was close, so close, to here,
And no one knew what lay in store.
Now all these lines have chilled, my dear,
Though love remains, strong as before.
Now you are far, so far, my dear,
While I am shivering with fear;
And all we can expect is more.
The lines of love I wrote, my dear,
Lie soiled in tatters on the floor.
They were so sweet, so sweet, my dear,
But their damp shreds and war’s cold sneer
Combine to make our lives unsure.
Rolph David
Mon 2nd Jun 2025 10:23
Good morning Stephen,
What struck me most about Lines of Love is how gently you capture devastation. There’s a quiet ache running through the poem—the way war creeps in and unthreads not only the world but the warmth between two people. The image of the once-sweet lines of love now lying in tatters is especially powerful; it says so much about the fragility of hope when placed beside something as brutal as war.
Your use of repetition gives the piece a haunting rhythm, almost like a lullaby turned elegy. It made me feel the closeness that once was—and the chill that now surrounds it. Thank you for giving voice to a kind of grief that often goes unsaid: the slow fading of intimacy under the weight of fear and distance.
Regards,
Rolph