Memory of My Soul: A Poetry Collection

Moiety

It truly is quite a conundrum

and day and night, I ponder it.

In my hands I hold the lifeless

rag-doll remnants of our friendship

and still, I can not bury it.

I long to fly freely forward

but some force holds me still.

The problem lies within, I espy.

While all else is sound and whole,

there is a small, jagged hollow

from which a vital piece was taken.

You have a moiety of my heart,

not given to you intentionally,

but so it is, nonetheless.

Please, I beg you, return it,

so I may flee this desolate land.

Bring back the moiety of my heart

 that leaves me waiting and incomplete.