Love

I bet you believed this poem was written for love.

But I have forgotten such a word,

As I have tried to forget why.

No, I haven’t written something for love

For what seems an eternity?

Wasn’t it you who told me love

Was simply something lacking hate?

If so, my sins must prove

That I lack love entirely,

And everything, yes anything, that brings such joy.

Like laughter and hope.

Such silly things mean nothing to me.

 

And wasn’t it you who said without hope,

There is no hope in living.

So I suppose this means I must die.

Or am I doomed to a world of wondering?

A world where flowers never bloom, but stay

Closed for all eternity,

Waiting endlessly as they

Sway in the moon’s cold beams.

A moon who simply steals its light

From an all forgotten sun.

 

I hate the way you know

Just what to say,

To wrench the color from my life,

And throw me in a world of grey…

Would you laugh, if I told you I found it

Beautiful?

Or have I no right to know such a thing.

 

Time goes by in this world of mine,

And I wait endlessly for anything

That speaks of truth.

After living so long in a world of lies,

I have forgotten there was such a thing as beauty.

And wasn’t it you who once told me that

Love

Is a beautiful thing?