Sometimes my heart feels like a phantom limb.
Pain stabs it, even though it isn't there.
And something weeps that used to sing a hymn.
And something bleeds that can't afford to care.
And there I am, reliving it again:
The ugly battle and the pointless fight,
The wounds we took at our own Devil's Den
When Love bled out till it was cold and white.
That finished me for war. And yet the need,
Behind the loss that haunts me, has revealed
An emptiness in me I cannot feed
Unless I stand upon that battlefield,
Loving and hating the unfeeling knife
That had to amputate you from my life.
Copyright 2017 Matthew J Wells