First Love



First Love


He holds her pale hand firmly in his grip

Lest she might slip away

Leaving him alone, desperate.


Never though has he held her love.

I keep that safe beneath my bed, in a box

Velvet lined; fragranced with youth’s lusting musk.


She was torn, that delicate faerie child,

Under Solomon’s wise eye- divided long ago-

Boys playing dice for her spoiled gown.


And though he might win her fragile form,

Always will it be a hollow shell, for

Her true love here claims her beating heart.


About Maitiu

I am a collection of aspects. A father, a husband, an uncle, a son, a teacher, an aspiring writer, an amateur photographer, a poor guitar player, a slightly better singer... Online however I am a 365er looking to find out what people make of my personal poetic musings and my photographs. Drop a penny in an old man's hat and let me know what you think... (Leave a comment!)
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