Three years ago to this very day,
I signed something of my soul away;
But that is love that doesn't last,
And present lives the longing past,
Though nothing of your face remains
In aught I look at, and the pains
Are well-healed scars, and I did best
To put all mementos to rest,
I even ceased to sing your songs,
Then made them my own, for these wrongs;
And still something of your prosody
Remains in my voice's melody.
Apr 25, 2024
Apr 25, 2024 at 1:32 PM UTC
Three years ago to this very day,
I signed something of my soul away;
But that is love that doesn't last,
And present lives the longing past,
Though nothing of your face remains
In aught I look at, and the pains
Are well-healed scars, and I did best
To put all mementos to rest,
I even ceased to sing your songs,
Then made them my own, for these wrongs;
And still something of your prosody
Remains in my voice's melody.
Some people aren't to stay in your life. And sometimes that's a good thing.
Request permission to use this poem