Poem Of The Day #2

Poems 1 Minute 

Last night's rainstorm
hastens the spring
blooms the early flowers
thrills the tweeting birds.

Last year's April, please do not return--
the long shopping line,
the empty shelves,
the toilet paper shortage.

But I dream of you, returning,
even though I know you would not.
It is understood.
Still love feels unfinished.

















	


	

			


	

			

				

					

		
		

			
Published by haoyando

		


		

						
		

	

		

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			20 thoughts on “Poem Of The Day #2”		


		
		
    
					
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    What is finished love though? Love is never finished for me. It’s continues whether we get to live with the person or not, or if the person is not in the same page as we are. Love of a mother to her child is never finished so as the love of God..
    

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      Yes, that is so true. Once started, the emotional connection will never be finished. Sometimes even if we want to cut it off forcefully, we end up thinking and dreaming of it. There’s no cure and no exit to our love. 
      

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      ‘Finished’ love was meant in a manner of speaking more about love that is reciprocated and so comfortably settled and in its place. Like love between spouses! It was not meant as love which is over or finished between two people…Though if it’s infatuation in the guise of love, it can finish.. Mother’s love comes closest to the unconditional love, that is pure and perfect like God’s love..
      

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        Yes, a mother’s love is the strongest bond of all, the closest a human can experience towards the unconditional love. Everything else has its conditions. The fact that we exist is a testament to our mothers’ love and sacrifice. I agree. “Finished love” should be rephrased into “happy ending love”, when the two main characters who find each other and live happily ever after. It is not really finished, not really ending, just passing a new milestone. 
        

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      Yes, hope will never die. Hope looks at the hopeless abyss and says, “I hope”, and then your imagination starts to fill in the gap with ridiculous dreams. On the other hand, finished love is much quieter, satisfied with its own demise. 
      

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