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Rated: E · Other · Arts · #918694
Two people who think they have nothing with each other realize it was there all along.
You asked me why I motioned to the left when I spoke of the past -
I told you that life was like a storybook laid onto the floor,
With no beginning and no end, in which the only doors are the open ones.
No matter how I might wish for a clean hallway with no more options,
I can still see the silver sky above my head turning to gray.
Because in poetry there is love, and in love there is poetry;
And I told you that love made up the foundations of life as we knew it.
You told me you didn't believe in love and I simply turned my head and smiled
As I asked you why you thought we were all here and alive and well;
You said, "Love is insignificant."
Well I'm not saying you're not yourself, but you seemed superficial like my TV screen
And I wondered if you had really experienced what I spoke of;
Have you ever seen that glorious painting of love, that painting that displays it all?
You buried your head in your hands and walked away into that blue sunset...

I saw a dozen red roses today, laid out all in perfect order.
They were laid upon a fresh grave, and I wondered about the man inside.
And I wondered if you still remembered that day you refused to believe in life,
If you still remembered that day you withdrew your hand from mine.
Well I've been everywhere you have on this walk of life,
Yet I still find myself intensely fulfilled, like someone keeps filling me up.
Your garden is full of weeds in which your secrets are concealed,
And you used to hide them from everyone but me,
But now I've pulled them all up to reveal you've been hiding nothing all along.
If despair was a fountain, it would pour straight from your eyes,
And if love were poetry, you would keep your mouth shut, too afraid to recite it.
But as I walk away from you, drinking in the cold, I hear your voice in that winter air,
And you keep on calling, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you are my sunshine..."
When I arrive home I collapse and cry out to the wall, "You make me happy when skies are gray."
And it's then that I realize that you have seen that painting of love since you met me,
And that gray sky is turning to silver right before our eyes.
I still have to tell you, I have to say before you run away,
These dreams in which we're together are the best I've ever had.
And love is not poetry, it's a feeling,
And we embraced it.
© Copyright 2004 Rachel Rock (pyroflame at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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