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The Rose In The Broken Jar

A poem about the end of love

Photograph from free images on Pixabay

The door is ajar, the curtains are drawn, the letterbox flaps in the breeze. The floor is strewn with letters unopened there’s no sign of a kiss nor keys.

In the debris of my life all tattered and scattered, tearfully torn on the floor. Tired and worn, faded forlorn, call it what you will, I don’t care. Love doesn’t live here any more.




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Liam Ireland

Liam Ireland

Author, writer, Illumination Editor, Top Writer in short stories and poetry.

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