Aldo Asperas

Rookie (May 23,1983 / Quezon City, Philippines)

Dead Love - Poem by Aldo Asperas

As often times I try to understand
why it is that I stay.
Something so beautiful
could come from another
yet I know best it not to be the same.
The joys that I have I know they are plenty,
but I know with every joy,
a pain is yet to unfold,
a pain greatly so that even the pain
would be much more than what makes me happy.

As often times I try to understand
why I myself cannot leave.
Is it out of pity? Out of love?
Or something as simple as being blinded
by all hopes and dreams that one has
for me and her?
The pain has struck times a many
often so that death would become a choice
than an inevitability.

Love received and love returned
almost forgotten has she.
Always fought with me over silly things
yet piled into a scars a many.
Joys together are rarely found
yet those joys, as the day is,
overwhelm that of pain.
Though always certain,
that pain is to happen again,
I choose to show a blinded eye
to the pain from her that await me,
in all hopes that I know she loves me.

Often times I try to understand
if the pain is worth the love at hand.
Tired as I am, all I do is for her
yet it seems that it's not enough.
Often do I fight for what for we had
but in the battle I lost my cover.
but like a ghost that comes back to life
a battle again is yet to fight, we fight, I fight.

Days become weeks, as to months become years,
nothing has changed and the pain, a mere prick.
Everyday becomes a struggle.
Yet I am here, and she is there,
still as one, and nothing changed.

Grown to get used to it, like a slave under orders.
Man as I am, my love makes me weak,
for all I was, was all for her.
everything I have for her, she now has.
and the days come by, I've nothing more to give,
than the love that never quit,
still living, still suffering, still dying.

And as if my existence was never present
she goes and finds a next,
to fill a hole that I believe was endless.
Impossible to fill that of my best.

As efforts are, nothing has changed,
she lives, and is loved by another,
for her hopefully
better than I did love her.

But one thing has changed, since my being solo
my love has died, and now so have I,
I have nothing more to give,
not even for her to cry.
My days of rest has finally come,
Six feet deep,
buried underground.


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, March 18, 2007

Poem Edited: Friday, February 4, 2011

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