You never failed to make me see
how creative I could become when I was hurt,
how the words would twirl around and make themselves a nest,
and that was when I probably realized;
life, may or may not be about loving
and even without loving in my soul, I could keep walking.
You proved to be more than amazing
when you stuck your hand inside the mud and yanked me out,
when your tears washed it away and I learnt about
how life, may or may not be about success
and even without success in my mind, I could conquer less.
You always made me cry.
Why, is something I always wondered about.
Why, is something I was too late to find out.
And that was when I probably realized;
life, may or may not be about living
and with your battered soul in my hands, I found leaving better than breathing.
YOU ARE READING
Lighthouse
PoetryA lighthouse is your only hope in the vast ocean and you can only hope the crashing waves won't tear it apart. Poems that I wrote in order to live. Each photo that is accompanying each poem is mine, representing memories which go back years. © Alex...
