No sunset for a heart so bright,
No darkness for a soul of light.
Life is hard, yet full of joy,
As fate treats us like a toy.

Never give up at all times;
Accept all sorrows' rhymes.
Trust each step along your way,
And hopes shall never fade away.

Way of life—hold to morals and belief;
May Allah grant you endless relief.

He walked out on himself,
Left his book half-finished,
Buried deep within his shelf,
His skin burnt down to thinnest.
The pen was always his escape,
Then was it the pen, the paper or the reader
That made him forsake his escape?
The creator inked through its remaining life,
The vessel consoled the words under all eyes,
The receiver breathed meaning into the words,
Then who was it that discerns?
But...
What was his story...?
Was he reciting it...?
Or was it reciting him...?
Is he returning for his glory...?

You loved me, I loved you.
For me, it was special.
But for you, just a moment—
Forgotten with time.

For me, you were my future.
But for you, I was just a friend to play tricks.

For me, you became my everything.
But for you,
I was just… a friend.

For me, it was real.
But you told,
It was my misconception!

No,
not every poem
needs to bloom
with romance
to make a heart grow
full and wise;
There is poetry
found in survival,
in unhappy endings
and goodbyes.
Not every poem
must woo the reader,
or make their yearning soar,
some poems taste
like bitter coffee grounds
and nothing much like love.

©️Lizzie Bevis