Cut And Paste

My are feelings gone,

faded, rather undone

dead and gone

days of delight unfolding,

into nightfalls old of odd,

nary a speck of season,

but every single reason

for a truth untold to unfold.

Your love is a thing,

so dumb so contagious

your heart is a clipboard,

where simultaneously

feelings are cut and pasted,

from me her they were cut

and in a twinkle if not only a winkle

for her there they were pasted.

In solitary solitude,

so here down to earth I am

confiding in my own aches,

in serenity of a breaking heart

once so pure now so stained

counting scars not the stars

only I used to count with you

numbering the days,

left for a heart to heal.

Even though not okay,

absolutely I am okay

It's okay not to be okay,

isn't this what life is all about?

snippets of joy for happiness,

those of pain for acquaintance

forgiving and forgetting so will I

the pain but not the lessons learnt.

november (the black poet)

*woes of sombre hearts*

November Wordsworth