The Hiatus

You say that we do not come for you
As swiftly as your flowers bloom.
That when we come at all,
You’ve long since thrown the flowers away.

We say that we do not love
This thing that you call love.
And that those that give you splendor
And all things that are pleasant,
Torments us from birth to eternity and back.
And that which you throw away,
We keep even when withered and old.

For you, love is life
While for us, it is death.
For when love knocks on your door
You gain the world
While we lose it.
And that everything
We have earned for a lifetime,
Even that which you despise,
We lose, when we see
The world in your eyes.

Yes, we suffer when we love.
We lose sight of the colors
Of the grass.
We lose love for the sweet smells
Of that which is none of you.
We die a silent death
That we hide behind our wrinkles.
We die to wait until you return.
Until you come and claim us
From our misery.

For indeed we were born for you!

~ by daerd on January 17, 2008.