Living, Breathing, Loving, Dying
by Renee Levinson
It tears at my heart to see you in pain,
Cannot cure yours, when it still remains in me,
Closed doors between us,
Leaves both alone,
Distance,
More than just miles on a map.

Living; but dead on the inside,
Breathing; a formality,
Loving; trying to, at least,
Dying; would not end the pain.

Rivers that flow with sanguine and saline,
Painful only to know why they run,
Leeching joy from our lives,
One drop at a time.

Living; but dead on the inside,
Breathing; a formality,
Loving; trying to, at least,
Dying; would not end the pain.

Who the hell do you think you are?
Taking our lives with such conviction,
Robbing us blind, Breaking our hearts,
Ruining the only life we have,
Murdering my ability to love,
And our ability to trust?
What right have you?

Living; but dead on the inside,
Breathing; a formality,
Loving; trying to, at least,
Dying; would not solve the problem.


Copyright(c)1998 Renee Levinson

Poetry - Main