Love does not die of just a single blow,
Its life flows out quite slowly over years,
One drop follows another as love flows,
From thousands of unfatal cuts and tears.

A thousand little stings from tongue or eye,
A thousand unkind words from me and you,
A thousand "I told you so’s" piled on high,
A thousand battles lost, refought anew.

Each wound a scab that grows harder with time,
Covering festering hurts that won't heal,
An unwise word morphs to betrayal sublime,
Suppurating reminders all too real.

Simple kindness is lost from lack of use,
And what remains just a facade in truth.


My podcast reading of this poem is available at https://open.spotify.com/episode/7tRrW46ovkUfmLknjvhmGn?si=ipvg74hOQ3iWbWWlPfhDKw