When love reaches its waning days,
When the flame flickers in the heart,
When memories keep it from dying out,
When the boat sinks down in the soul,
When early days come back to dream about,
When those dreams disappear at the waking hour,
When death becomes the next chapter of life,
When the opposite sex starts to lose its appeal.
When passion is a word and not a force,
Love looks for a sensation to keep it burning.
Alas, that sensation is not totally dead.
She is that heroine that arrives at the gates,
Dressed in her finery with perfumed arms,
Her painted smile and bleeding heart,
Her missing teeth hidden from view,
Her long hair covering up the bald spots,
Her slender body as a replica of youth,
Her mouth full of hate and resentment,
Her words poisoned by sad memories,
Her scars that won’t go away,
Her loneliness leading her to open arms,
Any arms that come her way,
Any ears to listen to her sad stories,
She became a part of his lonely world.
Her memories had to be revealed.
Her secrets had to find a way out.
At last she found someone to listen.
The sad story is about companionship,
Old age trying to rekindle the flame,
Exchanging love for sympathy,
And using love to revive the youth in us,
So life will become the next chapter of life,
Instead of death, those dreaded waiting days.

This really did happen to me, but I still love her.

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Robert L. Martin
almost 3 years

Hi Vic. It's a sad story, but I can remember the hot passion of my younger days.

almost 3 years

When waking up no longer a choice
When you can no longer hear her voice!

Makes me think. Thanks for this poem.


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