by S. james-T Ward

Created on: July 19, 2008

I hurt and still I yearn
these wounds again to her return
To her, the sword she raised at me
the pain, the dread and misery.

I hurt and yet shall suffer more
at every turning back to her
at every dreamed and vintage sky
to her I realize.

And pangs of her I celebrate
and wear thrice decades long await
While wounds once bled, love till dead
and I, again are nearer wed.

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