not another next
i do believe my mass will implode
what on earth have i done to deserve this
why must my heart be torn apart in another war
only to once again reject a connection made
the color of beaten love
cloud on my face
oh, to kill the ensuing anxiety and suffering 

yet, i will search the trenches of my heart made by you 
to find the ability to forgive
it’s an unreasonable ask

Go check out Sadje’s Sunday Poser – Great question and wonderful responses! This piece reflects what so many of us have done – kept on trying and trying, even in the face of no resolution.

Amrita Valan

The Season Changed

The season changed
Deranged with loss, oh, how I grieved
The season changed.
Spring lambs leapt; blue skies furled white sheets
A cloudy barge carried your hearse
A setting sun shed crimson blood
The season changed.

The lovely moon

The lovely moon
Sent me into, a trance, a swoon
The lovely moon
Whispered gibberish, silver bliss
Made love to me, sly crescent tease
Winked eternal love, blew a kiss
The lovely moon.

The Death Dance

Death floats above my mortal
Cast-off shell
Adieu, life, as I knew it
The spring wells of joy
The pools of tears,
The daily grind
The nighttime fears
I am to hold hands
Dance above my corpse
With the great leveler
In the holiest temple of all
Without body or address
Dwelling outside time
And space
Where when I flatline
Where I go
Is something now I shall
Come to know.

Will You Be Mine?

I don’t want to be rescued.
My deliverance.
I don’t want to be saved.
My salvation.
I don’t want to be loved.
Unless I can love you back.

Please, don’t open doors for me.
Or offer me your seat.

Be my doorway
To brave beginnings
And I will rise,
Stand up for my beliefs.

Cost of Betrayal

My infidelity did not anger him, strangely enough, it humbled, crumbled, and made him so meek it broke my heart.

Lights Die Out

When he finally cracked, it was a ‘blink and you will miss it’ moment. The twinkle in his eyes extinguished.  

End of a Love Story

In short, though I was ready to forgive him, he had moved beyond the need to be forgiven. The end.


Amrita Valan is a writer from India, and she has been published in many online journals and anthologies. Recently her debut book of fifty poems Arrivederci was published and is available on Amazon.


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My Black Heart

shielded by the dark
the frost turns to hard, clear ice
longing for some warmth

Bartholomew Barker inspired this piece from me with his prompt on Living PoetryMonday Poetry Prompt: Dark, Frost, Long on December 20, 2021 While his image would lead you to think about Winter, my mind went in a different direction. What does it bring up for you?



I Write Her


“Men are every bit as sneaky and calculating and venomous as women are widely suspected to be.”  Lili Loofbourow

“Did I do that? OH! I’m sorry, that was not my intention.”

“Ugh, I suck. Can you forgive me? “

Eyes of innocence before me for the 1000th time.

Him being purposefully confused to purposefully confuse me.
Slick like oil.

An engineered game well-played to my detriment.

I am maneuvered purposefully, skillfully.
Me still loving, trusting and believing.

Directed by his intention I question myself.
My judgment is slipping.

Damn it.

For the last time.

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I Write Her


And in that moment of forced togetherness
I felt like the boy eating off the filth of a paper city
I realised I’m forcing the same trash through my heart
In craving to be someone’s priority

Vasvi Gupta – excerpt from Reversed Smiles

Find the specific details on why you loved this person, and it’s okay to find yourself still loving this person, but you have to see that these qualities do exist with a person who’s waiting for you, who’s even willing to give you more.

Let go of the fantasy. Loss is a good place to love yourself more and work on forgiving yourself more. 

Baby, don’t think that the time you spent with that person was lost for it has prepared you for this very moment, our conversation here.

Heartache may lead to the suicide of the mind but never of the soul.

Juansen Dizon – excerpt…

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End of Bliss


I Write Her


Love, becoming one.

Intensity together.

Then pain. Two again.

**The image prompted a reliving of my personal moment but click here for what inspired the artist to create this beautiful sculpture. Click here to see another perspective of the moving version.

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Reblog – Burn by Stephen Allen

Yes. It is.

Through The Cracked Window (Revisited)

These dreams like ashes float away
a voice I never heard
only ever silence
where were you when hearts bled?

I never thought you’d deceive me
where are you now?
can you stand the pain?
how long will you let it burn?

This pain slowly smouldering
a lesson you never learned
is your world just a broken promise?
is your love just a drop of rain?

Stoic Poetry

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