If love was once a poet,
Your name would be its rhyme,
If love, by chance, was sinful,
You would have been my crime,
If love was what I've always felt,
Whenever I'm with you,
Then why am I feeling this way,
Why does it feel wrong when it's true?
If love was painted in shades of red,
Then why are we dressed in black?
If love was made of kindness,
Then wouldn't you love me back?
If love appears to be for real,
Then why should we even dream?
Why should we fall asleep at night,
And in the morning, scream?
If love had learned to grow with us,
Then why do I slowly wilt?
Why did you choose to crumble down,
When in real love, we were built?
And if only you've let me love you,
There should've been no need to run,
And darling, if you only loved me,
You would have been the one
YOU ARE READING
Depth of Me •••#Wattys2018•••
Poetry"I'll write for what was left within the ashes; for the depth of me when all else is gone." cover drawing by: Carolina Roda
