Always comes on time
Its own time, not when we say
And we love the Spring.
Oh, I too will change
But why do you push me to?
I thought you loved me.
Love does not have strings,
Rules or eggshells to walk on.
That's love that has died.
Insecurity
Won't bind a loved one to you
Nor rivers of tears.
I will grow and change,
As I wish, on my own time,
With you or without.
If love is now dead
Much better it be buried
Than call control love.
MYSTERIOUS GARDEN
1 year ago
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2 comments:
Wow. Powerful. I particularly like the lines: "I will grow and change, As I wish, on my own time," True that we all need to grow, but true growth is for our own development, not to suit another. "Much better it be buried Than call control love." Yes.
(I also saw your other poem about spring. You are quite a good poet!)
Thanks, Moony. :)
I wrote that about a friendship that's not going well. Love ought to have acceptance built in, but there's only so far you can bend backwards before you say "Ouch". I recognize my part; I shouldn't have let that friend get away with so much before yelling "Ouch." These things are more confusing than a Joyce novel.
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