a poem by Cher Bibler

Our love lies broken underfoot

We ran through what we had

carelessly, thoughtlessly, and we

lived around the ruins as long

as we could, embraced the debris,

slept with the memories.

Once we loved and it was a

great love, a noble love, a

love for the ages. Now it’s but

a ghost of love haunting the

back of the room, clearing its

throat every now and then, almost

ready to speak, then changing

its mind, knowing we wouldn’t

listen, that we are too busy,

that perhaps we only loved the idea of love,

that we never truly knew the real thing.

Now we are stepping on broken

edges, cutting our feet and trying

to stay upright. Our love lies

broken underfoot, it is a

piteous sight.