Alone With My Loneliness

During the periods of stipulated flashbacks

Memories may not always be smooth or soothing

The pages of the wary calendars

Under the color of my melancholy ink

May not forget nor forgive the pain

Yet I would love to be alone again.


My heart will never burst into laughter

Nor will cry in rain

Flashbacks of the scenes may not survive

With all the clocks in my hand,

For they are the silent warriors

Dead, but fought in vain.


The next day is always so crucial

Fighting against all the odds

Yet the motion seldom walks along

With our dreams or feel at home in accord.


If you think you win or it is a defeat for me,

All the days are numb, crying silently

Morning brings nothing but wary nights

Passions grow old from everyday fights,

Let me put it straight for ages to come;

Not time but moments may matter to some.

love poetry

Chronicle Of Love ►


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Wed 27th Mar 2019 22:23

Wow, I read this about five times before I started to understand, and I'm pleased I did. Thanks for sharing, I think this is a really good poem. You relay the emotion really clearly, and I'm left wondering about the moments. Really good.

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M.C. Newberry

Mon 25th Mar 2019 09:33

How the human spirit can labour seeking some sort of solace. It
seems likely that contentment is reached by being content with one's own self. Looking in the mirror with a smile is a good way to begin
each day IMHO.

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Martin Elder

Sun 24th Mar 2019 09:23

I love the line 'under the colour of my melancholy ink'

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