Empty Fist Poem by DAVID GERARDINO

THERES a beaty in love,
so simple and complete,
and we wear it in our
eyes, and body, and our
rolled up sleave.

THERES a strangness to
it, like a empty fist,
then it reaches out,
and takes hold of air,
but in this air, is
the meaning of you,
they and me.

THE soldiers stand,
the beaty fades, the
roses are cut, and
the thorns start
to feed, still, these
thorns protect the
beaty, and becouse of
this, love, only love
becomes the king.