The last poem I will write for her

It's late in the evening

Broken glass on the floor again

She's thinking of leaving

He's breaking her heart again

She turns and she asks me

"Should I stay or leave?"

I said "Stay, oh please stay with me I plead"

There's cigarette ashes

Scattered religiously across the floor

Baby bottles and makeup

Will she turn and walk out the door?

She turns and she asks me

"Do you love me true?"

I said "I would take my own life for you."

Poems from years ago

Circulate in her mind

He writes her another

Probably for the last time

She turns and she asks me

"What should I do?"

I'd tell her "Do what you know you hae to do."

And though she's living on a prayer

I'm sad I can't be there

The pain of staying put

Is more than I can bear

We pushed each other away

Now the darkness deepens

I hope she can't hear

The sound of me weeping

Maybe, one day she'll ask me

"Are we still allright?"

I'll say "Let's go dancing in the streets all night."

It's late in the evening

The clock on the wall strikes ten

The tears have stopped flowing

I've let her go again

I stop at the cafe

Near the cold moonlight

With pen and paper

This is the last poem, for her, I will write

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Yea, ok, so I had wonderful tonight stuck in my head when I wrote this.  Get over it.

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Starward's picture

I have been reading poetry for over thirty-five years; and writing it for somewhat less. I do not normally care for love ballads, even in the classic (non-musical) form . . . but this one really is a supreme exception to my usual choice of reading. The emotion just surges from the words into the soul---and the ache it both heart-rending, and gut-wrenching.
Although I suspect that a profound amount of sorrow lies behind the provenance of this poem, and I do not wish to intrude upon that, I applaud your great accomplishment in creating this centerpiece poem.