By: Robert Anderson

My belovéd

I am within a void if not with the inspiration of your soul, without the very essence that is you. I have only recently discovered what true weariness is; a weariness unlike any I have ever endured before. And long before there was you my pen gleamed, with no satisfaction might I add, for the day I would die insufferably. You have gone now, it seems. When the day ceases and I realize how solitude has claimed me, I mourn. With that I bare to you a confession: I often wish my thoughts would leave me...only I am haunted by them which in turn suppresses my heart and feeds on the shadow of my soul. Why belovéd, have we drifted? Enclosed with this letter is a poem I wrote in adoration of you and my heart shall ache to hear you recite it. Oh, if for that moment belovéd I weep or die, forgive me.

Yours faithfully,


in my arms
her grievances
flutter as a thousand thoughts
and press upon the grave
of our union

twisting that knife
to drain
such melody
and wishing it
to worthier lovers than we

my every thought
is now
a trail of tears
as she
a cloudburst

our love
leading my heart
to mourn
and again
in sync
with a broken lyric

and I long for her

Robert Anderson
Daily Quote: It is not that love is blind. It is that love sees with a painter's eye, finding the essence that renders all else background.
~Robert Brault

Linguist Corner-FRENCH: plaire / to please
French: Ton cadeau me plaît énormément, merci.
English: Your gift pleases me hugely, thank you.

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Posted by V. Mahfood - 2010
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