Oh how we tend to wish ourselves
Such extraordinary pain
With our naïve failure to recognize Love,
And all of the heartaches it brings
We willingly accept the many loving lies
Our lovers spill from rose petal lips
As we empty our half filled glass of tears
Upon the dead flowers of heartless quips
Praying for a cure
From the cancer that grows
Be it neither a stone or a pound
More than our drowning need to know
How deep the water is...
2009 © T.S
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.