Poem By william mae
My words are tools that’s useless,
To convey what could be said.
The truth is beating in my heart,
But lost inside my head.
One word paints a thousand pictures,
This word jolts my heart with pain.
The word to most, would have no meaning,
The word that hurts me is your name.
Our souls are all that we can link,
The cruelest thing on earth.
To find that love is born to die,
Crippled from its birth.
A seed in ground that is not ready,
To birth love in its room.
Will die before it ever sees,
The glory of its bloom..