8

Oh bleeding heart,
each droplet of love wasted
stupidly frivolous was I.
I lie in this filth
I whisper to the wind,
of love and loss and loneliness.
I crumple into the earth,
a bed I share with no man
a forgotten soul bound to the soil.
My descent into the ground
my tears as they cascade down
marked by this tender flower.
A representation of my bleeding, seething heart
it pushes its head through the dust and the ash
poised towards the sunlight,
it sways in the wind
whispers perhaps?
Of love and loss and loneliness.
It is no longer worn upon my sleeve
but in all its frangibility,
it is just as easily torn..


© 2009 Florence Challender