And love is not all.

it can't feed me on hope,

it can't quench my thirst of infinity

or give me the strength of a rose.

love melted my wax wings

with deaf promises.

i gave my hands to be handcuffed,

i let the stars hurt me beneath the August moon.

yes, love is not all for those who loved

beyond words, beyond the soundless sea.

and i regret the blue letters written with that tired chalk:

the board was so shy.

this silent Saturday is a souvenir, a lovely prize

on a cold shelf.

love is so beautiful in a frame when it is dead and gone.

Karla Bardanza

1 comment:

  1. Funny how we can look upon love as something in a frame, timeless, untouchable and beautiful. I truly enjoyed this poem. It got me to thinking. Blessings.