Sometimes the truth is whispering in your ear but you’re just not ready to hear it.
were eloquent, the language
of love tempered with
the language of loss,
as if his love for her
was so overwhelming
that to lose her
would be a death blow.
No mention of her bruises
left from pounding fists
or the insults flung
with snarl and spit.
The written words dried up,
forgiveness assumed
since she always complied.
The beatings stopped,
the insults once angry
grew cold and controlled.
She kept believing in love,
and him, or at least
that’s what she told herself.
To admit her mistake
would admit his lie.
He never loved her.
His truth was finally spoken
with calm determination
as she pleaded for their life.
In that instance,
the beatings,
the insults,
all the tears
cried in all the years
evaporated.
Her vision clear,
she turned
and walked away.
No more words were needed.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Read 21 times
Written on 2026-02-18 at 01:04
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No More Words
His handwritten noteswere eloquent, the language
of love tempered with
the language of loss,
as if his love for her
was so overwhelming
that to lose her
would be a death blow.
No mention of her bruises
left from pounding fists
or the insults flung
with snarl and spit.
The written words dried up,
forgiveness assumed
since she always complied.
The beatings stopped,
the insults once angry
grew cold and controlled.
She kept believing in love,
and him, or at least
that’s what she told herself.
To admit her mistake
would admit his lie.
He never loved her.
His truth was finally spoken
with calm determination
as she pleaded for their life.
In that instance,
the beatings,
the insults,
all the tears
cried in all the years
evaporated.
Her vision clear,
she turned
and walked away.
No more words were needed.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Read 21 times
Written on 2026-02-18 at 01:04
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Alan J Ripley |
|
Griffonner |
| Texts |
 by Melinda K Zarate Latest textsNo More WordsEven So Proof of Living Love Is Not Hyperbole Still Life |
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