my passion for you,
you may never know,
so why is it that we hide all our love behind something called hate?
why do we even hate when we know we will die soon anyway?
to say we love may be a lie,
but to say we hate also is.
my passion for love may never be witnessed,
but witnessed is love that has never been seen.
David Lomenick's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Passion by David Lomenick )
- Though I mayst fall, Sir Toby
- FUTURE GROWING DISMAL, Donald R Charon
- S. Truett Cathy - In Memory, Bill Grace
- A pair of eyes, Cigeng Zhang
- Dying In The Truth, Dexsta Ray
- The Purple Ant, Bhargabi Dei Mahakul
- Just For Me, Elia Michael
- A Sad Bird, Rohit Sapra
- we are a perfect promenade, Mandolyn ...
- When Love Opened The Door, Lora Colon
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- On Turning Ten, Billy Collins
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- No Man Is An Island, John Donne
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
- Heather Burns
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
Udiah (witness to Yah)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)