Were you born of poetry

“were you born of poetry?”

I asked your weakened smile.

It grips a story of longing love.

One of passion, and of pain.

One with nothing less to lose

But all the more to gain.

Behind your lips so frail,

And eyes sea deep, I see a tale.

“were you made of roses?”

I yearned to ask your gaze.

Whose soft and subtle melody,

To great to be contained.

Your heart was meant for love,

Yet your thorns made to keep it out.

As if your walls were down once,

And someone ripped it out.

“Do I feel a mournful grasp?”

One stuck to something of your past?

For its grip is tight and frozen

Around something warm, yet grim.

Could it be the love you lost..

 was not due to you, but him?

This pain it struggles deep inside you.

Yet you are reluctant to give in.

Do you know lies tell the truth, far within your eyes?

They tell me at a single glance

The colors of your soul.

Hues so bright and vibrant new,

And gloomy shades are old and sad

And ready to be through.

Ember sparks and sputters

To stay the fire in your romance.

And I see a hint of spite

 That wants to put it out.

And build a new empire,

One that won’t go out.

Let me sew my seeds of love

Into the ashes of what was once you.

I will grow us flowers, thick, and tall.

With your bright and vibrant hues.

Love will be our garden,

With summer all year round.

And the flame will never leave us,

Because I will never put it out.

But you must let go

Of past love lost.

For our flaming want is bound to be.

For we are the stars, and the sea;

The moon and wind; the ember, you and me.