Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2013
I have learnt the pain
of too much tenderness,
of ingratitude, of impatience.
The pain that comes when you can't identify
the material of the casket,
you kept a gifted heart in.
I though it was love,
that preserved your misshapen, scarred *****.
But was it sympathy, inlaid with gratitude,
For three words uttered (though falsely)?
But I returned yours unharmed, when you requested it.
No gashes from harsh words
only salve, from caring hands- though the wound's wouldn't heal.

I don't know what you kept my heart in.
A bag of lust, tied with pride?
Cheaply made, so when it tore,
you sent my heart back, raw, unprotected.
At least I left you with sympathy.
Elaenor Aisling
Written by
Elaenor Aisling  27/F/body in U.S. heart in U.K
(27/F/body in U.S. heart in U.K)   
670
   Tabitha
Please log in to view and add comments on poems