Poetry of History!

He loves me, he loves me not.
I do not need rose petals
To prove his love or lack.
I got his written intentions.
It says to me, that he does not.
A million lying lips in songs of him.
Preachers claims, it is all the same.
My heartaches and my eyes are red.
Yet, I keep his action, the things he did a secret.
Locked in the fortress that is within me.
It does not matter what is being said.
I am stuck, and as frail as thread.
At any moment, I feel as if I will snap.
But hardly would that deliver me.
Instead it would punish my off spring.
The ones which depends on me,
To protect and provide for them
A loving stable environment, but look!
It is as if history is being repeated.