There is a limit even to tolerance…
There is no worse ordeal,
no deeper wound in love,
no trial more severe,
no rape that could hurt more
the sharpest pain of all
that fatally endures forever
since it pierces, shattering the soul
and leaves it like a dirty wasted rag
for you to cling to all alone
as all that you have left
after the final wreck of all your life.
The worst part is, you have to still survive it
and endure the unendurable
convinced that you will never quite recover,
while, of all crimes, that’s the one
that never can be quite forgiven.
© aurelio 2023
I am not a lover of this modern poetry form, no metre, no consistent rhythm. I can take no rhyming, but I am unable to judge this kind of poetry. So let me just say, I sense your bitterness and fierce anger. The latter has driven you slightly to over-indulge in words, some of which do not really belong – e.g. dirty, wasted rag. (aesthetically out of place); and fatally endures forever. If it’s fatal, it cannot endure, for it dies. However, the pain is palpable and we feel it in our gut. That is your success with this piece.
Actually, there is metre, consistently iambic all the way, though not demonstratively poetic but rather masked. Thanks for your comment.
A good message well delivered, Aurelio. Well done.