BY OLIVER CARLOS
Posted by Bulatlat
Vol. VII, No. 48, January 13-19, 2008
perturbed and trying to find comfort
in that solitary room…
all she wanted is to bury her face
in that warm soft pillow.
her heart mourns in silence.
for the bruises and wounds
inflicted unto her battered body.
and with her shattered dignity…
her essence as a woman painfully craves
for the fragrance
drawn out from the flowers of human respect…
she keeps on asking…
until when she will suffer?
will there ever be time
for mending a broken heart?
will there be place for forgiveness?
hatred is now a cloud
shrouding each rays
of her once unconditional love…
and as she hears his dreadful voice
at the other side of the door,
her tired bleeding heart
had shut every emotions connected to him…
that door will no longer be opened.
and to a jaded, tuckered heart…
there’s freedom in letting go.
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