heartbreak
They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
Burnt to Ashes: A Love Left Behind
I am burnt to ashes in the fire of love, The one I once held dear is now far above. My happiness has drifted to an unknown shore, To a place where I can find it no more. My joy has taken flight, soaring so high, Vanishing forever into the deep blue sky.
By Brain message0019 months ago in Poets
Snowflakes on Your Skin
Christmas descends like a thief in snow, Stealing breaths where your touch used to glow. In streets adorned with lights and reckless cheer, I find the ghosts of love we didn’t bring here. We were a season unto ourselves once wild, December nights where love was the only chill. Your laugh – a spark in the frosty air, My heart – a flame you’d secretly shelter there. Do you remember nights we drowned in scent? Chasing shadows on walls where love was bent? Your eyes – a window to a warmth I'd claim, My love – a snowfall that only fell for you in vain. We wrote our history on fragments, on air, No endings planned, no exits we could spare. In stolen hours, in borrowed light, We were the trants of our own wild delight. Then the wires snapped. The signals blurred. Like stars dying in a sky we could no longer. You took the compass. I took the worn pages. Now I unfold them alone, in altered stages. In vacant lots where memories still cling, I find scraps of us – a ticket, a useless ring. The ghosts of touches haunt like unpaid debts, Reminding me of hills we never got to trek. Snow falls quiet on streets we used to pace, Echoes linger where we once found our place. In hollowed halls where Christmas now pretends, I search for shadows of the love we didn’t mend. Do I still love you? Like snow asks if it falls. Like lungs ask if they need the air’s walls. The wanting digs a channel, deep and blind, A geography of you that I still trace in vain.
By Jhon smith9 months ago in Poets
Hollowed Out by You
You left a space where love used to flex, A hollowed chamber echoing _remember me?_ In vacant rooms where shadows now preside, I find the scraps of what we let subside. We were wild maps with edges worn by touch, Tracing paths where love was yet unmapped too much. In glitches of time, we'd find our place, Two fragments merging into one wild, reckless space. Do you remember nights we drowned in scent? Chasing shadows on walls where love was bent? Your laugh – a hinge where my world swung open, My name on your lips – the one sound I'd stolen. We wrote our history on fragments, on air, No endings planned, no exits we could spare. In stolen hours, in borrowed light, We were the trants of our own wild delight. Then the wires snapped. The signals blurred. Like stars dying in a sky we could no longer. You took the compass. I took the worn pages. Now I unfold them alone, in altered stages. In vacant lots where memories still cling, I find scraps of us – a ticket, a useless ring. The ghosts of touches haunt like unpaid debts, Reminding me of hills we never got to trek. Sometimes in dreams, I see your hollowed eyes, A stranger’s gaze where once my name would rise. The maps I keep – they lead to hollow places, Rooms where echoes ask: _Did we leave without faces?_ Do I still love you? Like rain asks if it falls. Like lungs ask if they need the air’s walls. The wanting digs a channel, deep and blind, A geography of you that I still trace in vain.
By LUNA EDITH9 months ago in Poets
Shards of What We Were
In the fracture of what we called _us_, I find fragments – a pulse, a useless hush. The scaffolding of love we built with bones, Now lies dismantled, where your absence clones. We were wildfires in a season without rain, Burning maps we knew would leave no trace again. In rooms that smelled of old books and your skin, I lost myself the day you let the threads thin. Do you remember nights we drowned in scent? Chasing shadows on walls where love was bent? Your laugh – a hinge where my world swung open, My name on your lips – the one sound I'd stolen. We wrote our history on fragments, on air, No endings planned, no exits we could spare. In stolen hours, in borrowed light, We were the trants of our own wild delight. Then the wires snapped. The signals blurred. Like stars dying in a sky we could no longer. You took the compass. I took the worn pages. Now I unfold them alone, in altered stages. In vacant lots where memories still cling, I find scraps of us – a ticket, a useless ring. The ghosts of touches haunt like unpaid debts, Reminding me of hills we never got to trek. Sometimes in dreams, I see your hollowed eyes, A stranger’s gaze where once my name would rise. The maps I keep – they lead to hollow places, Rooms where echoes ask: _Did we leave without faces?_ Do I still love you? Like rain asks if it falls. Like lungs ask if they need the air’s walls. The wanting digs a channel, deep and blind, A geography of you that I still trace in vain. In twilight hours when shadows learn to speak, Yours is the silence my skin tries to decipher. Shards of what we were – an art I don’t surrender, Hoping someday they’ll piece me back to tender. But shards are for memories we shattered wrong, And love is a country we misplaced our way home. The creases deepen. The pages thin to mist. What’s left is the ache where _you_ once existed. I search the streets for echoes of your step, Find café corners where our laughter went mute. In vacant spaces where we used to collide, I still find fragments – a word, a useless tide. The ghosts of us linger like unpaid debts, Reminding me of love we couldn’t embed. I fold the memories now. The creases blur. In the archive of skin, your touch is a cipher. Gone like stars we once aligned to name, What lingers is the hollow where I still call _yours_ the flame.
By Jhon smith9 months ago in Poets
