From An Old Widows Diary Poem by Adeosun Olamide

From where I came
We call him dear
The word is kept for one loved,
One precious
That one that is priceless
For you

Smile sneaks in my face whenever I get his message
And yet again when I recite his old thoughts

Joy of unknown bounds comes
When I listen to his intelligence

He calls me a lucky girl,
That needs nothing nor someone special
He says I am special enough

And though in his presence
I suppress my deep feelings' sometimes
Letting ‘em to death
I come freedom each I let ‘em out in you, diary

The man in love lies
Never trust a man in love
He is dead to sight, deaf

But in love
What sweeter place to be than therein?
To see only his beauty
And be blind to his flaws
To have him to think about
As time passes on
To slumber each night with his arms in mine
And to wake each morning to his sweetest touch, whispers
What sweeter place to be than herein?

What greater death than to die staring his eye
While I hold his frail hands
And then be united in the afterworld with him

But love isn't always so
Jealousy has shares in it

His snores keep angrily awake
My food start to grow old
His jokes stop being funny

And then comes a gentle young friend,
His strength of Samson
And then comes an alluring young lady,
Her beauty of Delilah

And then comes my sight his flaws
And to his sight my apt becomes flaw

But then,
I begin to hate my thought
He sought love,
But it is cold dead
And none can revive it

He has passed his zenith
He thinks I have passed mine to
He snores on the other side of the bed
While my pillow gives me warmth
He begins to lose appetite
And prefer listening to his friends than my presence
But then,
I am with my diary, penning my words

What binds us now is beyond love
And that is what sustains till he departs
Sweet memories of him has start to corrode
And all that remains is silence and seclusion
And this diary of when we lived in love