Echoes of My Wounded Heart, a poem from, Poetry Volume One, by Rose Mary Johnson, U.S. Copyright
Just the other day, I thought I saw your face.
As I made my way through the crowd,
I realized I had made a mistake.
Perhaps it’s my heart playing tricks on my eyes.
It’s the pounding of its beat and the echos of its cries.
It’s the pounding.
The beating.
The driving force that tears me apart.
It’s the echos of my wounded heart.
When will it stop?
It’s the pounding.
The beating.
The driving force that tears me apart.
It’s the echos of my wounded heart.
When will it stop?
Will it stop the moment I realize that our
love wasn’t for keeps.
Will it stop the moment I stop trying reach
for you so deep.
Just the other night,
I had a dream about you.
You came to me and said the skies were the darkest of blue.
I wanted you to stay but you had to go.
I never had a chance to say what I really wanted you to know.
It’s the pounding.
The beating.
The pounding.
The beating.
It’s the echos of my wounded heart.
When will it stop?
It’s the pounding.
The beating.
The driving force that tears me apart.
It’s the echos of my wounded heart.
When will it stop?