Love Like You Mean It.

by: berf

Keeping my heart wry

Was never something I,

A novice at the game

Of love, that fickle flame,

Could greatly grasp within my reach.

And seldom could I teach

My stubborn eyes to stay

Affixed upon the fray

Of former lovers snapping,

Clawing, breaking and trapping

Their sights inside their heads

To never see the dead

Remains of their passion,

So highly kindled in their fashion,

Only to grind and crash in time.

I knew it was a prime

Example of the thing

That every love would bring;

And yet I could not keep

My dreams, so free in sleep,

From turning in great danger

To your face, a pseudo-stranger,

Your smile, your eyes, your hands

Every detail that stands

So prominent in my mind.

So when I came to find

The lipstick on your neck,

Your own mouth, pursed for a peck,

A harsh reminder for yours truly

That, obviously newly,

Your hand was not free,

As I'd hoped it would be,

It stung though I'd expected

That my heart would get rejected.

So, again, I'll hurt,

And my responses will be curt

When you ask me how things are,

So close and yet so far.

Keep your concern to yourself;

I'll just put this on the shelf

Of past heartaches, not yet numb,

And wait for those that still will come

Because my heart can never learn

That love will only burn.


I'm pretty proud of this, myself. Writing in this fashion is extremely difficult, so I'm sorry if you find the flow to be slightly awkward in some places. Any suggestions to improve that would be eagerly welcomed.