An ode to friendship
What a funny thing is love.
You keep saying again and again
That you have forsaken
Forgotten, broken, goodbye
And it keeps coming back,
With a smile and a hug.
What a funny thing is love.
The late nights talks,
The photos and messages,
The wishes and letters.
And the promises!
Oh, so many promises!
What a funny thing is love.
They all say it's romantic,
To say I love you,
But the people I love
They are my own blood
They have my own soul.
And I swore to them all,
To hold them in my heart
To carry them so far...
What a funny thing is love.
Painted in canvas, in walls,
In silver and gold.
In its grip of iron cold.
It's painted in the sky,
It's drawn in our smiles
In the lines of our faces
In the ink of our letters.
What a funny thing is love.
Held in our own hands,
It's precious and brittle,
Held in our own palms
It's its own miracle.
(January 10th '24)
YOU ARE READING
The Lost Dreams of a Broken Poet
Short StoryA collection of poems and short stories I write when I'm bored. Most of the themes are sad, so I hope that, in a hundred years when I'm long dead, students read them as part of their Literature lessons. XD ⚠Major character death in some stories⚠
