Sunday, January 24, 2016
Love Has A Death
Love is not the touch of death,
Nor is it the river so forlorn and short;
We acquire highness from it when the
Living is tougher than the purse.
The friendship of a line of prose
Is bettered in kindness than the poets
So lovingly marvelling in flowery rock.
A statue is enough to display the kind face,
A face is huger in anger and trust.
But where is the picture of our youth?
Why do birds seem to fall and deliver?
It is duty to die and damage a few,
Than keep others in feelings of despair,
For despair lasts longer than bonfires.
Topic(s) of this poem: death,love