Was He Really Here?

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  • Love

    Was He Really Here?

    All my life I waited for my knight in shining armor, my kindred if you will.

    Countless nights I’ve spent dreaming of happier moments sure to come.

    Wondering if I could ever find someone that could awaken lost passions hidden deep inside.

    Wanting not only to live, but to live life to its fullest, wanting more out of life than to exist.

    A heart once soft hardened by time, a trust once freely given now hardened by betrayal.

    Tears cried enough for a lifetime with no more to cry.

    So much easier not to feel than to feel hurt, so much easier not to care than to care too much.

    And I call his name with a voice once mute brings the filter through the window, I call and he is gone,

    Or Was He Ever Really Here?

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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