They Call It Love Poem by Daniel Thomason

The world blows along our mending hearts
Derided by the whispering sound
Where cradles sink bare, drowning with the used
Eclipsed with the sun by a cruel, smut heart

Ash pastures exist blindly, a pitiless snow
So invasive to reveal in the smile of a man
The feeling is there, but obviously smitten
Plagued with the love by a cruel, smut heart

Melting mountains now waterfalls, wine out of a glass
Pouring like a wound into the eyes of an epiphany
In love and in care, yet maddened inside
Just falling past the void by a cruel, smut heart

Winded skies sink to meadows, breathless, in pain
Gasping in its apparitions that circle the clouds
Flawless in pride, descending towards hell
Infatatuated by a girl with a cruel, smut heart