My feelings were none of your concern,
but so are my face expressions,
or the tiny twitches that I make.

My actions were none of your concern,
so are my words, my beliefs, and,
my perspective of anything at all.

My problems were none of your concern,
you hardly have time to hear them.

I am none of your concern,
which is why I try.
I try to be none of your concern.

What a revelation,
slowly understanding you, that is.
Your humility and silence were a thousand words unspoken and unwritten.
Somehow,
I could only imagine the unspoken love you harbour for the unspoken girl.

Such envy I feel, yet,
I shan’t do anything about this envy.
Not this time.
Not ever again.
But wait,
I never did.

Sure,
I say that now,
But maybe,
one day, when we’re older,
and wiser.
I’ll take the chance and ask again.
Break the ice, and melt away the strain.

But here I am,
already attracted to another smile.

Little did we know,
We all have a purpose to be here.

Little did we know,
We are all meant to be weak and will always crave for love.

Little did we know,
We were meant to have these flaws and accept them as perfection.

Little did we know,
We always knew humans were ephemeral.

So, love.

Little did you know,
We were meant to find our God and pray to him.

Little did you know,
We were made weak to search for strength in Him.

Little did you know,
We were made perfect just the way we are.

Little did you know,
We were never meant to be attached to the ephemeral, but only to the Eternal.

But of course,
dear love,
You've always known.
Deep down,
You have always known.

(A.I.)

In the hands of a poet,
Love is a variety of beautiful and dark things.

In the hands of a poet,
Your name may be wind chimes or the scream of a banshee.

In the hands of a poet,
Your actions are either of sin or valour.

In the hands of any other poet,
You are just someone to be played.

As that’s what we do with our toys and words.

But,

If that poet was me,
Love is nothing but light and forever long bliss.

If that poet was me,
Your name is in sync with my steady heartbeat.

If that poet was me,
Your actions are of soft and graceful as the summer breeze.

If that poet was me,
You are love, and neither words nor I can simply play with you.

(A.I.)

To him, love was her.
But to her, love was another him.
As time goes by,
Feelings changed and so did their commitments.
In the end,
they saw each other as each other's,
made whatever it was,
into what they thought was Love.
So all the watchers could do now,
is wish them well,
with their fake smiles and glaring stares.
What a world we live in,
don't you see?
We are living,
in fear
and
an unfair democracy.