These Lines

Forgive me, if I no longer write of you in my rhyme,
I have found my words no longer capture your crime.
I can no longer conceive of a single word to describe,
The happiness of mine that you single handedly deprived.
And with the help of brilliant words from another writer,
I learned to whisper my words softly to my paper.
And hope that all of my experiences and thoughts with you,
Would transfer to these lines and reveal what I feel so true.
For only I can decipher what these words should really mean,
But for all those who shall read this a mystery it would seem.

by Warren Augustus de Guzman

Other poems of DE GUZMAN (114)

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