Faithful You have been,
And faithful You will be.

Had I told the stars
What I felt for you,
They would fall
One by one
And follow me.

Your lips tasted
like the stars
i never got to see
because of the cities
bright lights.
And once our lips connected,
Meteors fell down to earth,
And the ground beneath us started crumbling.
For it was the end of the beginning,
And I couldn't have been more un-afraid.

I may not be great at writing but

I am of the opinion that,

a poet upon closer inspection

is quite similar to a hat,

both are worn ragged and weary,

both drip water when they're teary,

both have a similar disposition,

and don't need much nutrition,

they're hung right out to dry,

either by a wife or by a guy,

are locked for hours in a room,

never overuse a broom ,

worn to cover balding spots,

or gaping holes in meager plots,

the brim on one doth shield another,

and once it's made it's got a brother,

and though one types and the other sits,

holding over gaping pits,

and though one smiles and the other cries,

and though one falls and the other flies,

and though one speaks and the other is mute,

all in all they're not so brute,  

so though a poet is not a hat,

and though a hat is not a poet,

it would escape their reason (both)

if either of them refused to show it