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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
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.
Starward