He steps on stones of green,
But they do not break.
Remembering hard things.
Tears have subsided a century ago,
But I intend to keep on running,
To push these leaves out of the ground,
And form them into beautiful flowers.
He is delicate though,
And so I must wait,
Until he has lifted his pressure,
Until he finds a middle ground.
Then I can press my hand against his heart,
And hear the pain,
And try to remove it,
And replace it with me.
If only he could let me in.
If only I was love.
YOU ARE READING
A Poet's Love Story: A Poet's Collection
PoesíaLife, 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...
