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Battered Love

10-23-2009 at 09:08:34 AM

Battered Love

I held your bloodied face in my hands,
Placed it in my bosom,
First time I found peace with you.

You strangled our love long ago,
Battered my heart every time,
Every time you fell on your knees,
And I saved our tottering love.
You sold my love for a meager sum,
Even then my heart lingered round you.

But this time you went too far,
I looked for a semblance of my dream,
And my hands turned up empty,
I stood up in the pool of blood,
And stared at your blank eyes.
Did I see the hope I'd tended?

I lifted your bloodied face in my hands,
Placed it my bosom.
This time your breathe pierced thru' my bosom.

Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.