Ever hate it,
When people,
Fall in love,
With the wrong,
Person.

Most are,
So blinded,
By pointless,
Visions that won't,
Last.

They push,
Themselves to,
Believe that,
Everything is so,
Perfect.

When really,
Everything is,
Crumbling apart,
In their fragile,
Hands.

Who do,
They turn to?
Their best friend,
That obviously loves,
Them.

Ever hate it,
When people fall,
In love and,
Cling to a,
Person.

Like a sticky,
Glue, the residue,
Tries to cling,
And make its,
Mark.

Like a ***,
Pushed to the,
Back burner their,
Friend's heart just,
Waits.

For their is,
Nothing else one,
Other can do,
When they love,
Another.

Ever hate it,
When people,
Fall in love,
With the wrong,
Person.

She is like a red, thorn-stricken rose,
A beauty prized inside my garden,
Her body, like the petals, gracefully flows,
Movement preventing the coldest heart to harden.

I could be undoubtfully mistaken,
For my eyes play tricks, like mischievous young boys,
Making it rather difficult to awaken from a dream,
Or escape from a well planned ploy.

Only time will tell us, if it is meant to be,
Fate will bring my real soulmate, at a moment of overwhelming darkness,
The strong waves are beating against the shore, and back out to sea,
Until I meet perfection, wearing a white linen dress.

However, don't let the oppourtunity to find her pass you by,
Especially when it presents itself in the blue sky.