I was asked to paint a picture
Of love and all it brings
But me, I am no artist
I can only write of things
I Colour with rich feelings
And can only paint in poem
So when I was asked to paint a picture
Of love and all it brings
All I could paint with my poem was:
A sorrow so deep it tore the page,
Of a pain I knew not of.
An emptiness that blackened my words,
A hole aching longingly for love.
So when I was asked to paint
A picture of love and all it brings,
I told the truth.
“I am no artist,
Nor do I wish to be.
I am a poet,
And love was not made for me.”