A SONNET: THE HOUR OF SEPERATION

“And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth with the hour of separation”

~ Kahil Gabran

 

True love grace has often granted us

Foolish moments lost to ego’s expense

Those wasted minutes of togetherness

Now rendered mis’ry in our own absence

As the memories loom of lust intense

How sweet the season once bloomed within

When souls stripped naked without pretense

Found harder in their melded heartbeat’s din

Love’s the opiate of oblivion,

Yet separation sharpens its cruel edge

And bliss rots into lonely torments

When your kiss is no longer my privilege.

So deep our love that scarce my broken heart

Find the will to beat whilst we’re torn apart.

 

by, Maren

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3 thoughts on “A SONNET: THE HOUR OF SEPERATION

  1. Love’s the opiate of oblivion. Good one! Explains a lot of things I’ve done that make no sense to me when I look back at them.

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