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Constant

by Jennah Casey 2 months ago in sad poetry

A poem by Jennah Maria

Constant
Photo by Ainsley Myles on Unsplash

Once upon a time in a land long forgotten

There lived a girl who was really quite common

She never did leave her small, humble village

For she was a Constant with a quaint sort of image

Always there when you needed her

Always there when you didn’t

Alone lived the Constant, with her thyme and her mint

What do you think being a Constant would mean?

Do you think of the sun or the air that you breathe?

Those are all constants, that is quite clear

However people too, can be constantly near

Being a Constant isn’t so bad

You will always be there when others are sad

Though even for a Constant, the novelty wears thin

Soon your friends will dismiss any predicament you’re in

For if you are never gone, there will be nothing to miss

Nothing to yearn for, no room for remiss

For a Constant you are, but a priority you are not

However, what if our humble girl, ever a Constant

Were to fall in the woods, right into conflict?

Whisked away on a grand old adventure

Full of dragons and trolls and untimely bad weather?

Gone she would be from her small, humble town

While her loved ones stayed there, their faces all a frown

Oh how they’d ache for her and miss her with care

Forgetting all about how they never treated her fair

They’d wish to hold her as close as can be

Knowing that seeing her would fill them with glee

And what about when our dear Constant comes home?

Tired and achy from her journey into the unknown

Surely they’d be happy upon her return

They’d hug her and kiss her, full of concern

The Constant would have the love she had finally been granted

And for a moment; just a moment

She would have everything she had ever wanted

However, a moment simply cannot last forever, and neither can this

Time would go on and soon there would be no more sense of remiss

Soon all is forgotten of the Constant’s adventure

Soon everything is put all back together

Alone our Constant will sit in her chair

Alone she will be with her thyme and her mint

For she is a quaint, humble girl, as present as ever

And there she will remain; most likely forever

For now that she is back, she is no longer wanted

For that is the life of our poor, dear Constant.

sad poetry

Jennah Casey

Hi there, I’m an aspiring author and artist hoping to get some of my ideas out there for everyone to enjoy!

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