It is not love I think of
When I think of you,
Though I wish it was,
This desperate
Tin Man chest
Echoing from being
Empty for so long,
It pleases me
To hear a beat,
Even if it is only
The echo
Of my pounding
On my own chest,
I’m not claiming
A Tim Man can’t love,
I’ve rusted myself silly
With tears I’ve wept,
Assuming love as the cause,
And envy those
With no brain or courage
Because they love
Without regret,
Without caring
If it is good or bad,
Right or wrong,
They just love.
A man with a brain
Or one who is too bold,
Might miss it,
Where as the rust
Freezes me here
Only makes it hard
To express
Love and not feel it.
No comments:
Post a Comment