Acts of devotion when not freely offered
Lead to an array of worthlessness and grief
For the one with questions about love not proffered
Who cannot locate any sense of relief
Would things be different by changing the outlook
Would love, in its finest sense, finally bloom
How could one be blind; did the mind overlook
All the signs that forever had met its doom?

These questions are asked with the boldest intention
Since our human nature is trained to reflect
Yet, sometimes the words that pass by
without mention
Are done so with the greatest realm of respect
Quite possibly, love had become immature
Like leaves on the vine, ‘neath an early spring sky
Few things in this life are certain to endure
And at times, they leave without a reason why.

Some words left unspoken are better in stillness
Removed from the angst that their harshness could bring
Thus, sparing their victim the unsightly illness
Of resentment, echoing in constant ring
The short term will lead to an excess of questions
Why love lost all sense of its moral ideals
Goodbyes, left in silence, leave many suggestions
But, the soul will go forth because time often heals.

© 2007 – Jill Eisnaugle’s Poetry Collection