Allgemein, Poetry

Broken Heart Syndrome

They say,
With time
The pain goes away.
But
How much water has to flow?
How many mountains have to grow?
Before you can forget,
Your biggest regret?
Can’t wake from a nightmare
That’s the bitter truth,
You got old,
Can’t find your youth.

Standing at the river,
Staring at the sky,
One question on your lips: A silent
„Why?“

Every year
Water takes this rose,
Only me knows,
You’re the ashes in the sea,
This river will bring
My red roses to thee.

There are wounds
That cut too deep.
There are things
That hunt you in your sleep.
Some moments you can’t bring back.
Empty dots on a wooden map.
You can’t flee from your past,
Cause in your heart
You know
It will last and last.

Standing at the river,
Staring at the sky,
One question on your lips: A silent
„Why?“

Every year
Water takes this rose,
Only me knows,
You’re the ashes in the sea,
This river will bring
My red roses to thee.

What’s the point
On holding on to a cut line?
Yet you still can’t let go,
It’s not the right time,
It would feel like a crime.

© Virginia Stone