All I could hear was the sound
of my heart, pounding in vain
to escape my chest in protest.
How could I calm its outcry,
when my mind also rebelled
at the e-mail I’d just sent her?
My words were so poorly chosen,
so inadequate to the task,
I knew my hopes were foolish.
How could she see past them,
know I cared so much for her,
but my fears were keeping me away?
I am less than I ought to be,
naught but the shadow of my soul.
Rustling leaves whisper as I pass…
– – – – – – – –
I feel compelled to add that this is a work of fiction; no hearts were broken in the making of this poem.