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Heartbroken ...

Love after love
​by Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

​and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.


Picture
Peter  says:  It is hard to have faith in the future when your heart is broken - especially if you have lost a love you built your life around and thought would last for ever. This poem reminds me that things will get better - one day. Also  If I'm feeling lonely and moping around my flat alone, I do try to look after myself with things I like -  good wine , bread, cheese, a favourite film. I can't say it helps much - but it helps a bit. 

Time does not bring relief.

7/3/2021

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Anna says - I found this poem last year when my lover left me. In some ways this poem says the opposite of the Derek Walcott poem above - It says time does not bring relief. But what it really says is that love lasts. And that is a comfort to me. I have lost the man I loved  - but I am grateful for all the love I still feel for him , even if it is painful to feel it. The relationship may be over - but I know my feelings were real.  

Time Does Not Bring Relief 
by Edna St Vincent Millay 


Time does not bring relief; you all have lied   
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!   
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;   
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,   
And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;   
But last year’s bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.   
There are a hundred places where I fear   
To go,—so with his memory they brim.   
And entering with relief some quiet place   
Where never fell his foot or shone his face   
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”   
And so stand stricken, so remembering him
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