Withering

O take my love not for granted my dear,

for my heart is but that of a man.

The flames of ardour quivering in despair,

as your cold neglect upon her forms wear.

Unconditionally I gave you my complete self,

yet how you have abandoned my affectionate being.

I am lost in a forest of no empathy,

with the final glimpse of a hope for my humanity.

How little you cherish even my most cordial affections,

how you tread harshly on my gracious passions;

how worthless have my existence become,

when you left my fidelity in an empty canyon. 

O but you shall not bear the blames for my soul,

for you know not love nor the void in my chest.

If I am soon to be a heartless ghoul,

then let my heart be slain in jest.

***

Yet still there is hope onto which I cling,

although for all the sorrows I must swallow.

If only you would treasure this nonpareil love,

and the frailty of life under the unfeeling hollows.

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Published in: on 08/02/2017 at 1:03 PM  Leave a Comment  

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