deepundergroundpoetry.com

My Love

I used to think I knew what love was,
Deceiving for sure- that's what seeing is,
What if my conceptions of love are wrong?
And what if reading is the seeing I have done?

I question myself from time to time,
Try it- it does not cost a dime,
All this to fit my new stones with the line,
To step out of the darkness into the light.

What I know bares heavy on my back,
I converse with others to relief its burden,
When misunderstood, I tend to cry,
Cheers, to this heartless token.

My heart feels- that I know for sure,
Contrasting emotions- it doth endure,
My love, my love,
What is my love?

I've never confessed my love to my beloved,
The first time I tried to, the white dove flew away,
My love, my love,
O what is my love?

It is the simple softness
Of a birds light feather,
It is the ferocious quiet anger
That accompanies a tiger.

My love, my love,
O what is my love?

It is the unwavering patience
Of trees,
It is the undying dedication
Of bees.

My love, my love,
I've never confessed my love to my beloved.
Written by wanderer (Faceless)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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