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  • Writer's pictureIona Stuart

November 17th 2014 - Poetry

Updated: Aug 17, 2022

What simple words that stir this woe within me,

Printed so carelessly – black upon blue.

And how they weigh their depths upon me,

To think such sorrows are coming true.

Yet we were so aware of what possibilities

Lurked ahead, from days of old.

But, oh! What difference when faced directly;

And the world turns gray and dead and cold.

My chest heaves with news so heavy,

Engulfing my heart with painful swelling.

And so often now I find I am stopped and staring,

In my eyes the salt waters welling.

And to you, my dear, what can I say?

For you are honest, brave, and strong.

Yet all I hear on loop in my brain

Is that what’s in yours is so very wrong.

But lo! I know not what to do – I feel

So pointless, so pitiful, so pleading.

And with such love for a beauty so fragile,

‘Tis not your heart, but mine that’s left bleeding.

Now the gloves come off at once;

The true nature of my selfish soul on show,

Because it is not my utterance that matters greatly,

But this battle of yours alone, I know.

What you do say I believe so truly,

That life you shall take best in your stride.

But please, I beg my friend, know this:

I shall be forever fighting by your side.

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