Les Miserables | A Poem

Back then in my past

When love was a fact,

And not a shattered illusion of dreams,

I could have believed the world's

What it seems.

Now you wave your

Bold banner of truth

In my eyes,

With your heel,

Grind out love

Along with the lies.

So now I'll be gone,

Not trouble you here;

When I've stepped to beyond,

Save your false, lonely tear.

Just plant a red rose

In my stiffened hand,

But mark not the spot.

Just leave the blood rose

To wither alone

Like the love

That was not.

© 5-27-90; C.E. Carl 

© 5-30-15; C.E. Carl Elias

It was around the time when my ex-husband and I were having difficulties which were rapidly heading toward divorce, that I went with friends to see the stage play, "Les Miserables." One of the characters and songs struck a chord that resonated with my own situation, and this poem was the result.

Twenty five years have passed since this poem was written; the old pain is gone, buried in the past, and I have allowed this one to come out of its former hiding place in my private journal.

It is one of the very rare instances of a poem penned by me that rhymes. I cannot usually manage that successfully on purpose. This one, as many (if not most) of my poems do, sprang to life on the paper of its own volition, leaving me barely time to scribble it down before the pen forgot the words.