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Writer's pictureTheresa Baxter

Unfulfilled



In spring it seems Love’s overflowing

Like a garden, ever growing

Abundance in the form of green

As fresh and spry as burbling stream

The air that fills your lungs to burst

Is sweet as love that winks and flirts

You think this feeling never fades

For deep are all impressions made

Yet as with mood, it climbs and falls

Fealty wanes at siren’s call

Its constant tending feels a drain

And everything becomes a strain

What once was glowing gives no heat

The ending writ feels incomplete

It seems there’s nothing quite as human

Than speed we move to bleak from blooming

We crave that blush from new love’s passion

Wear it as we would a fashion

The chase, the hunt, the novelty

So in pursuit we’ll always be

With soul agape like infant bird

We’ll beg forever, it’s too absurd

It’s like we’re made as if a sieve

We shan’t be gorged, but still we live

Unrested spirit doomed to haunting

Unfulfilled and ever wanting…

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