Of Our Own

June 3, 2011
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An iron curtain sets the stage,
However misplaced from Berlin.
Of a fashioned sort,
A love is forbidden,
such as a story of two young lovers,
of separate houses,
but lacking their sweet Verona.

Of a mother’s passionte belief they are refused,
a life in which they desire to live,
before the man leaves for a life he would choose.

In a array of black capes and popular hearts,
peers rise to ascend the steps.
I’m wating for you.
It’s only in my dreams, in which
in a duet of years,
you’re waiting for me too.

However, I must remain.
Along with life you will go.
Without me.
Boys and girls alike;
and our memories float to and fro.

And they will rise to thrones higher then any other.
However I must remain.
Here. Lacking the role of a brother.
A friend.
A role model.
A lover.

A lover…
A Montague in which my mother hates to say.
A Capulet I am caught in this terrible love game.
Do thou believe, my dear Romeo, that will meet again?
Do you dream, my dear Romeo, that we will die in the end?
Together, of an age of the auburn rarity.

The complaints must be ceased and ideas halted.
My goodness,
She is coming to realize he is all she ever wanted.
But as stated, those must stop,
For I-rephase She-does not want him to experience, in any form, regret.
She just prays to her father that he will never forget.

And maybe, just maybe, in upcoming years.
He’ll find her underneathe falling ahsen blank purities,
and return again,
to silence the stream of tears.

“Congratulations.” She whispers, “And all be well for you…

…each and every day.”

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