Heart of Glass

I do not know…

 

…if my heart is filled to the brim with love that I can’t love you any more.

OR

…if my heart is emptied of love that I can love you no longer.

 

…if the way I love you is the most I can do for you.

OR

…if the way I make up things for you is the least I can do for you.

 

…how my heart of glass can grow in parallel to my feelings.

OR

…how my heart of glass can shatter to free my lingering feelings.

The Best Example

Upon the sound of rain I reminisce

in my love you have given no notice

as my passion only felled tear drops;

Semblance akin to nature’s rain drops

both tiny yet many and immeasurable

differing only in former barely hearable,

Try and trying always ending up in despair

fearing, maybe truly we’ll never be a pair,

Slowly time pass & they fall upon the land

secret surprise for they formed a big pond

now everything visible not only to me, see!

alas upon your knowing I cried a whole sea,

Unkown would be to me how this came to be

knowing only tears fell not due to a sad story

rather it seems that I was quite, no, too happy,

Holding, embracing you as I lie down & listen

to the tears of heaven giving a rythmic lulling

as upon the sound of rain I reminisce…

Thoughtful Misunderstanding

I have never asked for your attention

Though I have begged for your benefaction

I have never regretted the excruciation

Though I have cried at your destitution

I have never sought for redemption

Though I have fought for your liberation

I have never corrected the misapprehension

Though I have persisted with your protection

I have never flinched with the fabrication

Though I have feared of your unravelation

 

I have never…

Though…

I will never…

For all I have done is for your jubilation

Rainbow

Red , kissable lips luscios and rosy

Orange atmosphere of vibrant gaiety

Yellow illumination of youthful energy

Green freshness and natural-born beauty

Violet grace and mature allure from royalty

Indigo hue of a woman’s secret & complexity

Blue sky’s reflection of benovelance and purity

Bedtime Story

Whenever I’m drowsy, I tell myself a story.

Not one written nor read such as poetry, but one called from memory.

I close my eyes so I may see, I do not speak to listen to the symphony.

As I recount the images and voices of you and me, akin to watching netflix in HD.

My mind goes hazy while thinking, were we to meet in our dreams oh how good it would be.