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Summer Was For Us

Poetry By: Kathleen Megquier
Poetry



It sucks when you really want someone to wait, but they can't wait, and they rush you into something you arn't quite ready for. Then leave. That's what this poem represents, I suppose.


Submitted:May 22, 2011    Reads: 50    Comments: 5    Likes: 1   


Summer was for us.

I wanted to keep you for safe keeping.

Have us slowly become one, instead of two divided apart.

But you wanted to have me stay in the cold.

Have me shiver and chill.

Underdeveloped passion, temporary bliss.

Summer is now for her.

The tan skin, the warm nights.

Everything goes to her.

Why?

If we could of just bided more time.

Kept this infatuation safe.

Instead, we had to rush, brushed aside, you wonder why I'm so hurt.

Now the summer is for her.

I can't stand the thought of hearts beating close, afternoon sleep, afternoon love.

All goes to her.

You.

If it was so easy for me to do the same I would.

Summer was for us.

I remember you holding me so closely, everything was pure and right.

Then you wanted more.

More. More. More.

Can we just wait?

Save something for the warmth?

Summer was for us, and I'm afraid, it's of no value to you.

Tarnished, and ripped, I'm left to boil in the summer heat alone.

It's stupid to think of you.

I know the flowers are in bloom.

The water is cool.

The grass a vivid, earthy, green.

Children playing in the street.

Innocence around me.

I want to join in, but I can't.

The thought of winter's gift in the back of my mind.

The gift you gave, but took away.

I know you are not over her, or her, or her.

No time to heal, no time to deal in your mistakes.

Rush her into a corner, keep her in a closet, have her under the bed, her safely in a drawer, her right beside you.

You keep them close.

Just incase.

If she diminishes, you have someone waiting to finish.

I wish I could do that.

Yet, I know it's unhealthy.

Summer was for us.

But I'm happy it's for her.

I'm the season of winter.

I have gone.

Now it's time for the change.

The rain.

Everything will wash away the sin that was us.

I won't have to be bothered with confusion, musing in what use to be us.

Because it's over.

Summer is for her, as it should.





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