Love is but a beautiful symphonyOf tragedy.
It blooms like the rose,
Between those thorns of pain.
It bleeds into its beauty,
Bedazzling us,
Like the tree’s strength, and capacity to sustain life-
Despite the ooze of sap.
The warmth in the heart:
Like the coal stoking the fire
Until it turns to dead ash.
It is the morning
Like the sun
Spills its blood on the sky...
Without it we are no where.
This, the tragedy of life,
is love.
This, the tragedy of life,
is love.
3 comments:
(smiles) in acknowledgment.
"Like the coal stoking the fire
Until it turns to dead ash.
It is the morning
Like the sun
Spills its blood on the sky.."
Amazingly fluid. Marvelous!
You're comments encouraged me to write again on my blog. Thank you.
Post a Comment