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To write a love poem would be a lie
Love poems are temporary
Unlike the everlasting vows
Written inside of them
Writing a love poem
In ode of something that wont forever be
Is takeing pictures of
Wilting flowers
Capturing beauty at first shot
But as days go by
Turning into something shriveled
Why write something when
It really is for someone else?
Its given though as something
To compromise for your
Undying sense of loss or want
Lies, all of it
But no one takes it for what it is
The feeling of convincing yourself
Of your love for someone
Not really love in truth
Only the guilded cover of
Your wooden heart