Romance

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  • Lost Love

    Romance

    Somehow I can feel his pain, I am him.
    Somehow I know what he did, I did it too.
    Somehow I know what he thinks, I think it too.
    Somehow I know everything he's going to say, I say it too.
    Somehow this dream is actually a reality.
    Somehow this nightmare is a fantasy.
    Somehow he dies and I die too, I am his death.
    Somehow my failing makes sense, I am failing him.
    Life is my failing, my love is dieing and so am I.
    Love don't leave me for no happiness shall come.
    Without your gentle touch I shall die.

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    Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    Azceltic’s Poems (4)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Romance 0
    Death 0
    My Sanity 0
    My Angel 1