Unpacking an old box I scrounged and found
a card for Mother's Day from my ex-wife,
professing love for mom that will abound
through time and space until the end of life.
Four years have passed--since first she filed divorce--
no card or letter, nor a seldom call.
A once abundant love could not be forced
to crease a smile, for it would now appall.
Why do I flinch once more and wonder how,
the love departs, which oaths swore never would?
Why they all say, "but things are different now,"
though hearts were sold as things that never could?
Amazing, how such endless loves quick end,
as flimsy tattered fabrics quickly rend.
(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
Unpacking an old box I scrounged and found
a card for Mother's Day from my ex-wife,
professing love for mom that will abound
through time and space until the end of life.
Four years have passed--since first she filed divorce--
no card or letter, nor a seldom call.
A once abundant love could not be forced
to crease a smile, for it would now appall.
Why do I flinch once more and wonder how,
the love departs, which oaths swore never would?
Why they all say, "but things are different now,"
though hearts were sold as things that never could?
Amazing, how such endless loves quick end,
as flimsy tattered fabrics quickly rend.
(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
English (Shakespearean) Sonnet
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