I so rarely do poetry. This is from half a year ago.
|Note: this poem was not written with anyone in mind. I have no idea if what I say in it is true or not. It's just supposed to be different than the ticky-tacky multitudes of fire-based love poems.
They say love is like a blinding flame,
It hits like the morning sun
It drops, takes away your breath
Like a shot from a loaded gun.
They say love burns like matches lit,
like fireworks down inside
Grabs you in its talons
and as a phoenix, flies.
But I know true, and so do you,
That that is not the case
For those who liken it to fire
doom it to that pace.
Love is as the ice in spring,
Beautiful but cold
Slowly changing as it melts
and as the days grow old,
it takes on forms yet never seen,
as the air throws off the chill.
But as the day grows older
the ice doth changeth still.
But times goes by, and by and by,
The ice has gone away
And in its place, the woundrous face
of springtime out to play.
Though soon the days will wane,
and the flowers leave the plains
the warmth of spring stays with us
as a memory
and as truth
And it will keep us warm through the winter.