Lesson 8
There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heartso full of longing, and each time he tried
to rip it out, two more would grow in place,
thus he just let it be, wearing large clothes
trying to hide the thing, unquestioning
why, how, and what this new brunt to bear
could be? And how it ached, each time a thread
of memories from some far gone days
would enter his eye, it would sew a pain
he’d long forgotten, anew.
Soon enough, he’d pluck at it so much,
the thing, had grown and grown, become
ingrown even, and caused him pain
unsightly so he hid amidst
the weeds and bushes near his house,
becoming more myth than man. Wishing
this longing thing would just kill him,
never knowing it was simply: his heart.
Poetry by Sameen
Read 78 times
Written on 2024-07-29 at 17:01
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