Few days of those butterflies flying
Twists and chills, idle lying.
His smiles, her favourite
Her sweet gestures and gentle talking;
Like nothing would be enough,
No kiss so well, no touch so real
Wishes for it to never end, never ruin
Never shall turn weary.
Yet with everything fine, there is still worry
How fresh things turn stale is still a mystery;
Sudden and shocking, like waves so evil
Shoved around and torn apart,
Like the cursed ones by the devil.
Tears that fall, like dimes of no worth
Promises to stay and keep lie like corpse;
Of all that matters, those words that flatter
Shatters the heart like that glass of dreams
But sounds so slight of a victory,
are whispers that spill out of numb lips,
"Would you still love, still write that story?"
YOU ARE READING
L O V E encore
PoetryA few words crafted in the poetic manner of the simplest form to talk about the love that we try to keep, try to hold on to no matter how much it hurts and how hard it gets or how much we know it just isn't right.
