Poetical

Seven Sundays

Seven Sundays ago
My mind leveled up
I have been enduring the trickiness of love
The poet in you had a beautiful way of creating and ending things
I no longer have the luxury to hold on to your organized madness
Seven Sundays since then
I chose to let go of everything you
My mind became a tropical forest of strength
So I ran through its ethereal energetic maze
The over worldly fog lifted itself
Seven Sundays from now
The poet in me will be replenished with a page full of emotions
I will no longer be drinking from your ink
The sun will set the right way
An olive branch will surely appear at the edge of this poem called life