I don't always write of love the
Way I think about it
and I don't always write of pain
The way I see of it
Though I pretend and try to
Focus on the bus ahead of me
Why do I feel sorry for Whats left behind me,
Yet I can write of love like I've seen and
Touch every soft feather and bleed
My self leaving hundreds splinters,
Does anyone ever gets tired of writing of
The moon and the stars and the ocean,
Some people would nod shamefully
Yet the old man with a cigar wouldn't
Really agree,
Because how can one get tired of the only thing that's keeping him company?
-ashespoetry
