The Dying Flame of Love
By Fiza Pathan
The moon filters its moody white dove rays into the bosom of my soul;
The city neon lights have left me cold like the blood dripping from my wrist wound in red blossoms rare.
For this love is not a delight but a tragic note upon the flute,
You walked away and I forgot how to play the notes.
Your memory takes away the logic from my reasoning
And the excuses towards an execution of pain;
Love is without echoes as it is a silent moan to the heart,
It rents the chest of its vital force, as the darkness covers my form in agonizing throbs in embrace.
You have taken away my self-control and have let the dew drops of the morning drown my late vigil nights for your return,
I wear a black satin dress to carry the torch in flame bright,
Not to show myself so sad but to cling to a dying flame that needs nurturing.
Copyright © 2013 by Fiza Pathan
Image courtesy : http://www.morguefile.com/archive/display/10169
P8055334.JPG By mconnors