To some, my silence can be arrogance,
they won't look back at times I reached them with gifts of smiles.
To some, my stillness can be cowardice,
they won't know the pains that knocked me down after showing too much courage.
Some would deem my silence to be indifference,
they will forget the times I knocked on their hearts wishing for their faces to greet me as a beloved one.
But none would heed the wait my silence sobs of,
for my crude words have deemed it mute to even be heard by any.
The wait I might be a fool to put up with, for this pricking reality contains no anomaly.
YOU ARE READING
THE PREMISE OF LOVE
PoetryMy Poetry, the art form of the soul, is an exquisite tapestry of language that weaves together emotions, thoughts, and experiences with skillful craftsmanship. It is a captivating expression of the human spirit, transcending time and culture, to tou...
