Poetry

When the Poets Run Out of Things to Say

C. D. Anders

The saddest word

I ever heard

I heard of just today

that loving her

was to defer

more love to self some way.

How crude,

how worn,

how deep forlorn

that view of love so flawed!

How evident

of life that’s spent

in vanity’s own fraud.

If only you

could see right through

that lie you’re holding close

then you might see

despairingly

it’s not love that you’ve imposed . . .

Published by C. D. Anders

I'm a pessimistic optimist of sorts. I'm no professional, just a feller writing for fun and occasionally commenting on posts I enjoy. "I'm but a stranger here . . . "

9 thoughts on “When the Poets Run Out of Things to Say”

    1. Yeah, and it always hurts to read things like the stuff I mentioned in the poem. I have no personal connection to them but I really feel for them and that pathetic mindset. On a lighter note,, thanks for reading!

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