What Is Love
For how could we call it love
if it lost against a mere beast
when 'twas meant to defy odds
and survive this terrifying abyss?
How could we name it love
if it ended upon a downpour
when meant to conquer storms
and never to quickly surrender?
How could we define this love
if 'twas feared upon seeing a crack
when meant to endure blackholes
and stay despite the crown we lack?
If this is indeed love then why does it kills instead of heals?
then why do we just reside on each other's 'maybes' and 'what ifs'?
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YOU ARE READING
He Who Cried Words
PoetryYou made my eyes cry but never of tears. You stabbed my chest but it never made me bleed. When you broke me apart, you just gave life to an art. When you broke my heart, you only fueled me to write. -E. Pleuvoir Cover made with canva
