If They Did Not Loved Me This Much

Poem By A.R. Brixton

If I write, then I write
And the words
Small letters, alone meaningless

Construct the stream
Of thought, silently
A sign reflects the mind,

And again, it withers
In front of my eyes
Drops dead

Such as autumn leaves
Those, fall onto me
And like them, I die.

Ah! If they did not
Loved me this much,
Then I wouldn’t.

Pick them up,
Take them in my heart
Forever,

Such as words,
I bear, I kill,
I change and change.

For that is what we do,
Pathetically,
Day after day.

Comments about If They Did Not Loved Me This Much

very good use of imagination and turn of phrases....well done


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