Why the Lover Is Lonely
Impatient love is rarely successful.
When it flies, it soars.
When it dies, it’s stale.
We converse and pick apart.
We reverse and return to old ways.
Becoming
begins to resemble
Destruction.
And our tears bring the fields their shallow breaths.
We feed the harvest frostbite.
We murder all precious nostalgia.
In the spring of our affair,
we knew it wouldn’t be long;
We knew it couldn’t be long
Before the clock forgot to care.
Or was it us for the clock?
The ticking in our collective ear is too much
for the little things.
So today we dig our graves,
move piles of faulty wires,
and dusty shrapnel
to find solace from our inability to savor
the simple and slow pace of growth.
About the Creator
Kendra Adams
I like words. I like dogs. I like to travel. I'm into outdoor adventuring, behavior analysis, linguistics, and Netflix-binging.
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