Finity

I would have been hers. She didn't care,
And, then, like strands of DNA, it seemed
As if my passion was depleted. Aged, I
Have none. I numbly move from task
To task, but nothing matters. Even these,
My words, are empty gestures. Now, I
Rarely write. I would have been hers.
I do not grieve. I've found I cannot care.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 17 times
Written on 2011-06-23 at 00:03

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