Her eyes stop me,
From laying a single finger on her.
The hope that had flooded them,
Had not yet receded,
And I think to myself,
How could her eyes not yet be drained?
Her mind,
A pathway to her soul,
Grown over,
With vines of thorns.
She cuts me,
But I move forward,
Despite how hopeless I feel.
Her heart is a Sun.
A bright light that can not be dimmed.
A blinding light that can not be blanketed,
With a black sheet,
Of my depression.
And yet,
She stands now,
In front of me,
And grasps my hand,
And somehow,
I know,
She will not leave.
YOU ARE READING
A Poet's Love Story: A Poet's Collection
PoetryLife, Does not wait, For you. It stirs your emotions, And reforms them, Into wings of flight, And it tests, Weather or not, You will open the cage, And allow yourself, To give up, Or if you will keep the wings calm, And continue to live, And underst...
