Hurt, is the fostered child of love
born at high sea
in the winds of August
Hurt lived to tell the tale
Hurt, is the surviving third degree burns
from holding on tightly
to love\'s burning flame
Tragic; the eternal optimist, love is
Love is ever promising
- despite everything -
Love, is its own worst enemy
Love dies believing
in what could have been
Love dies in hope, love itself
dies holding on, oftentimes
never letting go, love dies
of a broken heart
It\'s a sad day when love dies
from unmet expectations
of two people with good intentions
arteries beating assumptions
opaque selective disclosures
and jealousies hard to reconcile
each shaping the other
like pieces of clay
for we both felt we loved
and saw things the same way
yet love dies in different colors
in both our eyes, that have come
to see culprits in each other
where you and I once flew
a bright kite we called love
It\'s a sad day, when love dies
for even in the September rains
love dies a thirsty rose
riddled with thorns, bearing
little to no petal;
-
May the good coming rains
wash all hurt\'s tears away