“Can you spare 22 minutes? ”
He wanted me –
here. To be with him.
Only with him.
He stopped me
from almost leaving
him. The red chair carried me.
(Could this mean something? Ahh! A thousand sweet sighs!)
In his world
he welcomed me;
the other side –
can defeat demons
though we can’t –
I can’t win it all.
In my mind I
blush. He’s limited! But I
(Does he really want me? He just wanted my time.)
I assumed. I continue to.
Every day I fill my heart
that somehow he
It’s a knife continuously stabbing
me. He can never want me.
Love me. (Please?)
It’s a flaming whip
to my heart
I am wicked!
And so is he.
And that is why we are
I am a coward.
“Can you spare 3 minutes more? ”
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Comments about this poem (27,000 daggers by Agatha Portugal )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
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