I
am certain.
This
time, I already am.
I
may have been a minute too late.
I
may have been presumptuous.
But
at least I got there.
I
looked back.
I
looked back just to see you gone.
Then
it makes me think,
Were
you ever really here?
Leaves
started falling out from trees,
And
they began gliding onto my wrinkled nose;
Washed
away by grains of tears.
The
wind is blowing all of my hopes away.
And
I just wish it could take the pain with it.
And
never shall it come unexpected in the middle of the night.
As
nights go by without warning,
Sleeping
becomes more of a chore.
The
quilt you used to keep me warm
Is
now what it has always been: a quilt.
The
birds near the windowpane are now lonely.
And
no longer could they be called lovebirds.
For
the happiness is all gone,
And
in retrospect, it might not even come back.
Why
do you have to go?
And
why do I have to turn away?
The
thought of you being patient,
The
thought of us having our own fairy tale;
All
these thoughts led to a broken heart.
They
say that to write a poem,
You
must never say you are hurt.
But
still, I say this, I am.
And
the rhythm and the rhyme will not change any of it.
If
I could only take those days back,
Then
I would not be writing a poem right now
And
try in as much as my weak heart
To
make it to the next train onto wherever you are.
Because
one who loves must never wait
For
the moment to see the one she loves
And
sing him the lullaby of a broken heart.
