Separation

My world—it is not a world, but a churning war, Started when we were pulled apart, afar. The blood, it reigns between love and hate; My heart won’t little hear that it’s all just fate. The mind is blind, yet the kind soul still grinds, The promise that binds when two moons align. But when the time finally chimes, it’s sour as lime, Yet the past still mimes, like a wavering rhyme. Like the tale of a pale flower that broke into a rock— Roots that run deep, yet the shallow buds they flock. Now, they become the crumbled pieces of my heart, Made by our never-expected depart. Deep into the roots I seep while sinking in rain; I could never rise—that's the beauty of this pain.