Saturday, 24 January 2015


I tore them up, being weary
of the hold those old
letters had over my emotions
every time I sat at my writing bureau.
What was that power they possessed?
Word-by-word they perpetuated
vain hopes of dreams unfulfilled
that incarcerated me in a place of torment.
I never was aloof.
I habitually gave my all: love, heart, body and Soul;
but you tired of the emotional drain of reciprocation.
Your passion paled to indifference.
So my life became defined by red bicycles
and the smudged black ink of postmarks.

The flames inside were consuming me:
touching what you'd once touched,
my fingers could imagine something else -
something warm and living.
Aah, such exquisite torture!
And that last one ever written,
still stark black on yellowing paper: Love's death warrant.
Well at least it will be safe territory now, the bureau.
At least I'll no longer be lured there daily
to be caught up in an endless loop
of grim masochism,
of clinging to a rainbow's end
while slowly drowning in the murky depths
of a long-abandoned wishing well.

So I gather up the shreds and hold them over the bin.
They are more precious than a handful of diamonds,
have long been the only lifeline
to what once was - and blindness
has been my captor, just as dumb delusion
has bred a foolish complacency.
I brought it on myself.
My foot is on the pedal now.
The lid rises and my fingers release their grip.
I watch the strips fall and come to rest
between the baked bean cans and chocolate wrappers:
futureless in refuse land,
futureless as a condemned man on death row.
And now your name is there too: shredded, discarded,

like the hopes and dreams we once shared,
so forlorn
on its nest of dross, abandoned -
yet still able to twist my guts!
Cold rain pounds the window, heightening melancholy.
My blood rages through me like fire.
Tigers are ripping the antelope of my heart to pieces.
This is how it feels - the inner tearing
of a Soul from it's mate. And the bleeding doesn't stop
with acceptance
and it's dead expression, but goes on
hurting, hurting:
paper strips telling the odours in the bin, the trash, the putrid moisture
what moving on is. It is nothing but a lie.


  1. It's incredible the power 'old letters' can have on us.
    I applaud you on 'letting go' and on this amazing writing.
    Bravo, dear Ygraine.

    Sending love and hugs
    xo xo

    1. Yes, they really can be such powerful implements of self-torture sometimes, can't they?
      Thank you so much, dear friend, I so appreciate that:)

      Much Love & Hugs back xoxoxo

  2. *At least I'll no longer be lured there daily
    to be caught up in an endless loop
    of grim masochism
    of clinging to a rainbow's end
    while slowly drowning in the murky depths
    of a long-abandoned wishing well. *

    Those words are so powerful to me.
    I came back to read this poem again as it struck me 'to the core' and I think it might be time for me to tear up some 'old letters' I have kept in my possession for too long.
    They do not make me happy so time to get rid of them.
    Your poem is my incentive , thank you!

    xo xo

    1. So glad you have found the courage too, Margie...although it can be so painful to finally "take the plunge" and then as the shreds fall, there is the intense impulse to snatch them back:/
      What IS it about old letters???
      Many thanks, Sweetie xoxoxo

  3. quite the emotional write...those tangible reminders of a love that once was can be so is almost like an exorcism to let them go into the flame...perhaps a bit of releasing from us....

    1. ...aah...if only the emotional "letting go" were as simple as the physical act of tearing up!
      Many thanks, Brian:)

  4. Wonderful an insightful, and oh so emotionally charged. The declared death of these letters appears to be premature… Loved it..

    1. Yes, definitely have incredible insight, Anthony!
      Thank you so much:)

  5. a beautiful poem :) Something I could never do.

    1. Thank you so much:) No, never easy to delete a part of the past...:/

      Have a Great Sunday:)

  6. You had me permanently at "So my life became defined by red bicycles
    and the smudged black ink of postmarks." I have thrown some letters out, lost and never looked for others, but I remember what they said and now, a half century later, proud to be part of their authors' pasts. I've been espoused 45 years but memories don't end here. Hell, I doubt they end anywhere. I sure like your poem. You're remarkable.

    1. I know exactly how you feel...even when old letters are destroyed, lost or stored remains virtually impossible to forget their content, no matter how much you want to...
      I hadn't thought of being a part of their authors' past...makes me want to retrieve those torn-up shreds and piece them back together...thank you so much for opening my eyes...and for the shared experience:)

  7. Wonderful poem. You write so well.

    1. Thank you so much, Linda...I truly appreciate that!

      Have a Wonderful Sunday xxx

  8. Oh Ygraine how I understand this to the deep hurt of the heart. One day I'll share with you a poem writen to me by my husband (at the time) so beautiful writing so beautifully while cheating with every woman he met...Poems are usually truth, there are to me, and as in this case, very dramatic, you deserve your award, and I feel for you...

    1. Oh Sweetie, I am with you all the way...have been exactly there: the feigned romance, while all the time the covert cheating. Then, when you discover the truth...the intense pain.
      We are sisters in experience...a pain shared...xoxoxo

  9. That line abou tthe tigers ripping the antelope of yoru heart is so amazingly beautiful. Oh, love it! :-) Thanks.

    Greetings from London.

  10. Oh wow...thank you, very much!

    Have a wonderful Monday:)

  11. I used to read old letters that had a lot of meaning to me, but realized that was only accomplishing looking backwards and not forwards. Haven't touched that box for over three years :)

    1. Oh have so much more self-discipline than I have, Keith!
      Many thanks for giving me a new perspective...

      Have a great week :)

  12. Boa tarde, a memoria de cada um serve para rectificar o presente, as memorias mais marcantes estão permanentemente no pensamento.
    Seu poema está muito bem construído, é lindo e profundo.

  13. Thank you so much, AG...I really appreciate that.:)

  14. Hey, Ygraine this is one of the best that I have ever read so far. I know you have many more in the store. There is no single doubt you would make me read more of it.
    The expressions of your poem has taken me back to think how difficult and challenging it is to erase the past memories. Saying is usually easy but doing in reality is always taxing. I feel the pain. I share your feelings.
    I liked many of the words used here to describe the things, to personify them and a lot more. Nice poem, dear Ygraine.

  15. Oh wow...that is such a compliment.
    My genuine heart-felt thanks, dear Friend...these kind words mean so much...:)

  16. You have such a gift for writing and expressing yourself.

    1. Hi Lisa, so great to hear from you...and thank you so much!

      Have a Fabulous Weekend:)

  17. Very, very powerful! You have such a gift my friend!

    1. My heart-felt thanks, Sweetie!
      Do hope all is OK with you...
      and have a great weekend:)

      Big Hugs xoxoxo


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I really appreciate hearing your opinions...:)