I feel I'm growing cold
is this getting old?
as the passions which I hold
stow slowly into stone

A crooked compromise
watching the demise
of love for younger times
eroding quickly with the tides

Holding to emotions
I wish would still arise
yet with every motion
swallowed more within my mind

Is this poem too simple?
Does it have no depth?
at least I carry words
there is no peace in breath.