my poem titled “At Dawn”

life, love, poem, poetry, writing

Broken is as broken be
Two halves, two wholes of a flitting memory
Swathed in the timid easterly light
Sat a pair of young love birds, clothed in white
Sprawled with content across a gingham blanket
A scene so serene, no soul would change it
He looked down at her like her eyes were precious gems
He reached out a tender hand and then
Caressed her cheek with the gentlest touch
She sighed contently knowing she loved him far too much
And though father and brother and sister alike
Tried in vain to squelch her love, impale the tender notion on a spike,
Of uncertainty, and depravity, choosers can’t be beggars, but beggars can be
I tossed aside their fool hardy indignation and sought out the love that had shaken
My world so irreversibly to pieces, not sharp like glass, but rounded like the pieces of a puzzle
I fell into awe at the beautiful disaster around me and threw myself into the rubble
Because if there was any place I’d rather be, if he could not be next to me
It’d be alone waiting desperately
For two halves, two wholes of a flitting memory

-Collins

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