Torn Love


Torn Love

The colors set before me

Don’t blend, mix, or stir.

They sit as if asleep

 or sick, waiting for a cure.


A swishing sound and

they awake, completely unaware.

Now they move about the paper

with not a single care.


I look upon this master-piece,

A lovely work of art.

Then suddenly the wind

Comes and tears it all apart.


I blink my eyes,

Shed a single tear,

And look upon my heart.

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Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

twiga1693’s Poems (7)

Title Comments
Title Comments
You must 0
You and my heart 1
Escape 3
Invisible 0
No more 0
Torn Love 0
My master, the shoe. 1