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Poety That Speaks Of Love Lost
The End and Yet To Come...Poems to my poison...Kevin
Rage towards who was once the only man for me.
His words echo, ripping open my body mind and soul.
Aware time heals reaching for blind eyes that see.
No one but me can ever make me whole.
Stretch out my limbs to work out the kinks.
I notice my body seeps slowly my blood.
Searching for anything real, find the missing link.
My feet take me nowhere, emptiness floods.
His eyes, smile, the movement of his lips.
His caress, slap, pinch, kiss, all fill my mind.
His smell, the chemistry that moved our hips.
His voice, soft touch, rough love, one of a kind.
These are the ghosts that keep me tied.
My heart knows there is nothing there for us.
When I sit with this I feel part of me has died.
Struggling to accept the end of our lust.
Blood pours from my center dripping down.
Pain has no limit taking my peace of mind.
I scream his name but there is no sound.
Take my suffering and allow me to unwind.
Give me back my sanity and just let me be.
Open my heart without it breaking in two.
Show me how to be free of him give me the key.
I beg, plead, crawl, please show me what to do.
Written by Becky Jo Gibson September 2007©
Yet to Come
Opening the door I feel the kick of his stare.
Emotions flood over me, taking hold sadness, and resolve.
I stop collect myself, listen, feel the air.
Not allowing eye contact, not getting involved.
No matter how I enter his rage takes the lead.
I am alone and in love with one so far away.
His space has become much too small for me.
I know my presence causes him pain today.
I hear my screams so deep; the scars no one can see.
There are no good times for us to share now.
Long gone are the happy thoughts and good deeds.
Left are anger and other feelings so foul.
My hope has died; I match the feeling behind his dead eyes.
Faith in what was our enduring love gone, empty now joining his.
I know now how life, love, and even beautiful memories die.
Once relived time and again our fateful first kiss.
Shredded, trivialized, ripped apart piece by piece.
Taking with it faith in all I held high.
Empty, in pain, needing to find joy, laughter, some relief.
The hardest part yet to come; when we say the final goodbye.
Written by Becky Jo Gibson© May 15, 2006