Sunday, 17 June 2007

Betrayal

My heart was but a beating soul,
of which you chose to tear.
My love was but a cotton fleece,
you never chose to wear.
I gave to you an arm, a leg,
you kicked and punched me sore.
I like that I dont know you now,
I love when we're at war.

1 comment:

  1. Mostly brilliant, but I have two questions:

    1. Line to doesn't make sense (i.e. because of the 'of' at the start);
    2. Your final line doesn't fit with the sentiment of the rest of the poem, in my eyes; it seems to suggest that the writer is happier at war than in love, which contradicts the bitterness at the heart of their betrayal, don't you think?

    I love your metaphors too, though - all of them! :)

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