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Untitled, a heartbreak poem

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I lay a bowl upon my bed
and on that, not a pillow, I rest my head.
The porcelain is cold, but I am colder inside,
all my warmth poured into the tears I have cried.
Now, what does one do with a vessel of tears?
Do I save it, guard it, protect it for years?

I do.
But I don't.

Still in the bowl the tears are transported
then released from the dish: they cannot be hoarded.
They fall to the ground, sink, disappear,
Thirstily drank by the tree that grows near.
And carved in the bark is a heart with some letters,
I take out a knife and erase them forever.

The End

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Author guidance for This poem

Jackerbie There may or may not be more to come. We'll see how long this foul mood lasts. In the meantime, feel free to share your own heartbreak poetry.

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