Our love had the essence of such a poetic start,
As it’s now quiet with nothing but slow songs playing in the dark,
I hear the rhythm of a piano fused elegantly with a lonely harp,
Where I lie here placed in my bed with a broken heart,
I write my emotions down and turn my pain into an art,
As I cry page by page and continue to fall apart,
I analyze our beginning, our ending, every moment and part,
With our love that had the essence of such a poetic start

Since she walked away I haven’t known what to do,
With all of my colors that have turned gray–I’ve been left to only feel this color of blue,
As there’s not a shade in this world that could ever replace her hues,
My sight and mind has been left in a haze–and left ever so confused,
With my eyes that stay closed–for I’ve been blinded by the truth,
Wherein the only thing my eyes want to see–will no longer be in my view,
So go ahead and paint my world however you wish and want to,
As you can paint my whole world with the most vibrant and amazing hues,
But until the day that she returns–all my eyes will see is gray and blue

Roses aren’t always red
violets aren’t exactly blue
the society we live in,

cannot seek the truth.

happiness could be fragile
compassion oppressed to be a weakness
until kindness is no longer sublime

dominance risen
and we live by the rules
we’re trying to find truth,

but what is truth exactly?

“Silly Poet,
What do you write?
What are you thinking
On this deep dark night?”

I’m writing a song
For my sweet love
who broke my heart
and left it burnt.

I’m thinking about
A sky grey
With ashes falling
Instead of rain.

“Oh, Silly Poet,
Let it be.
You can’t fix yourself
With a rhyme or three.”

The silly Poet laughs
And continues living all the lives
That were created
Through the silly poet’s rhymes.