I chose to say nothing Because only silence could say The trillion words I hold in my heart And decided to kiss you Because only that could explain My silence I chose not to push so hard your heart was a battle I wanted to win by retreating So I fell back as competition attacked but trust me baby I was watching I chose to just look on For I believed if you happened to see The gaze of my eyes,in them you'd see no lies So I'll say this one last time In free verse cause I can hardly rhyme I chose to embrace my feelings for you Not just because you're beautiful but because you are the one for me I chose not to contemplate why I believe so So I beg you never ask For you'll find no answer I just know I love you and I believe Love is reason enough
Not necessarily bad, but when you can love someone so much you wrap yourself in it, and in a sense suffocate happily. Yet at the same time, it could hurt you in return.
We're not something, that I regret, though now I feel, my heart's beset, every poem was still, so perfect, so true, though just like, each 'I love you'.
I don't regret us, it was worth the pain, and given a chance, I'd do it again.
I was a shape in my cosy little shell, I stayed... I nestled. My cookie-cutter thoughts would occasionally rebel... And stray to the windows. But still they were imprisoned by the walls that surrounded.
I would steal bashful peeks out a window. I'd let my senses take unrestricted flights, as I stared into the grandeur of the carnival that seemed to have sprouted overnight...
Just beyond the confines of my home.
"What a marvellous circus!" I'd think... I'd gawk with child-like adoration and never blink.
The universe lay sprawled in a celebration of systematic chaos. It stretched far into the horizon... A delight to the senses, perceived through such young eyes. The world had told me stories. They were like fireworks that speared up to the sky.
I wanted to be a part of the jubilee... I longed for the validation of my existence. I wished to claim the gift of life bestowed upon me. I'd resent being held hostage by my indoctrinated ignorance.
I was a shape. I knew I was a square. I knew I had a home... But not within those four walls. Simply because... My heart wasn't there.
The torture chamber painted thick with red, white and black fully contains artifacts different unimaginable kind each one is.
Pain indeed was the tap root from which art sprouts, says the poet all the secrets of the heart, hidden deep for which a heavy price is paid throughout life, sing and dance spin a fine yarn, tell an unforgettable tale
Ability to feel the pain and sympathize, distinguishes the DNA of art of any kind, elevates it to the plane of sublime.