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The love we shared we killed in haste.
The time we spent we see as waste.
The son I raised is now not mine.
The life we lived has spilt like wine.

The trust we built is now but lost.
The warmth we felt is now but frost.
The truths we knew have spoiled to lies.
The thoughts of then now turn to sighs.

The secrets sworn are now betrayed.
The other's shame we now parade.
The home we made has now been sold.
The memories there hang like mould.

The dreams we spun we left forlorn.
The plans we drew are now all torn.
The pictures taken have been ripped.
Of gifts exchanged we have been stripped.

Those speak for us, who could care less.
Only strangers hear us confess.
Time, money now spent to avenge.
The only goal is sweet revenge.

Paid lawyers know what is now best.
Staid judges say when we will rest.
Once, dear, friends are now witnesses.
Once, days of life, are now Xeroxes.

We will end up where we started.
Neither gaining since we parted.
Years of conflict will be a waste.
We will mourn what we killed in haste.

Submitted: Monday, September 30, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, October 02, 2013

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Comments about this poem (My Eve by Mike Acker )

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  • Heather Wilkins (11/22/2013 6:53:00 AM)

    divorce a long drawn out process. sometimes very difficult. well written

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  • Mike Acker (11/12/2013 9:49:00 PM)

    Thanks to all who liked it and I suppose thanks to those who critiqued it, albeit a bit harshly. Not a false word in this poem, let me tell you. From the first word to the last.

  • Chloe Yvon (10/10/2013 4:11:00 PM)

    The life we lived has spilt like wine' of the freshest, most unexpected yet perfect descriptions I've read in a very long time.

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