Sundered Lives

dawn daylight environment fog
Photo by Agung Pandit Wiguna on

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.


  1. Hi Michael

    I like the way you approach this poignant poem and one can certainly feel the sense of need and pathos. The lines themselves have a rather urgent cadence that only effectively adds to the intensity of the poem. The ending is perfect, beautifully echoing the haunted soul of the narrator.

    I” am less than I ought to be,
    naught but the shadow of my soul.
    Rustling leaves whisper as I pass…”

    I can feel those leaves whispering and the wind stirring up their conversation.

    Really nicely done!
    much enjoyed,

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank you Wendy. Occasionally, I like to imagine a situation and then write from that viewpoint. This is one such exercise. I am pleased that you found the result effective.


  3. Ditto, I particularly like the next to last verse, zero sum conclusion of the zero sum game. Not during the making, perhaps a facet of the heart. Apart from the young, I’ve never met anyone whose heart was intact.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Thank you Steve. Well, I wouldn’t say mine was absolutely intact; only that this poem doesn’t reflect anything which is ever happened to me.


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