"O sweetheart,"
where words can provoke a smile on her face,
her resistance forces us to dance an earthy pace.
And I wish I could stop these feelings myself,
but only she, sweet crusade of love:
can stack my love on a shelf.
And I wish I could make my feelings halt,
but only the temptress of forbidden fruit,
can bring me to face all those of my fault.
And when her eyes lament with love,
I am forever a lovesick goner.
Albeit I was never a man,
to be such a lovesick fawner.
For this thing called "love,"
as it was never in my theatrical play.
For the world of fictional books,
cleared away all my dismay.
But many a times love comes what may,
and makes us fall, oblivious to what we pray.
So due to circumstances, here I stand,
behind her leadership, as she plays her band.
Floundering gravely while she ignores my commands,
smiling prepensely while I meet all her demands.
And the sad thing is for her, anything I would do,
but for her lover, for me, a glance she would not even sue.
YOU ARE READING
Poesy of Eloquence
Poetry❝ this tragedy is soaked with tears that dry the ink in my hands. ❞ ━ the poesy I've yearned to release ever since I taught myself to pick up the pen and write. ❝ for if the painting of my words be the garden upon the gate of heaven, glimpse them...
