Don Sizemore


A Broken Heart


As if the moon could hear
The narrator tugs upon it's ear
Pours out his soul with salty tear
Stretches his arms to pull it near
As if to empty a scalded pot
To pour out his depair scalding hot
To untie his insides of this knot
And from his memories remove the rot
The narrator violently shakes and shudders
Seeking some comfort as from a mother
Imploring and pleading the return of his lover
Or at least some relief not yet discovered
Of his grief there seems no end
Impossible to calm or to mend
Even now as the moon descends
A puddle of pain, sore knees and skin
He feels no better than at the start
A broken soul, a broken heart

Submitted: Monday, July 01, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, July 24, 2013
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