Omission, of, the very things;that make us, who we are,
Are, the things, that break us down;never overcoming scars,
As time passes, most wounds heal;can it include, half, a soul,
For once half, is taken away;can it, ever, again be whole?
Being human, is not, a choice;life, comes, naturally,
But, if the past, controls your voice;where lies, reality,
Though a heart, may be, freely given;wrapped in, a big red bow,
Does that bow, somehow hide;the things, fear, won’t let you show?
All, the events, of your life;even, the fears and doubts,
Are, the things, that make us human;and they’re, what love, is all about,
Love, at times, is never lost;it can live, in your, heartbeat,
And nothing, that may come along;is a thing, love, can’t defeat!
Sometimes, miles, may seperate you;events, might make you fall,
But, the things, that have ocurred,;really, change nothing, at all,
For, love is something, never bad;it’s still, your happiness,
As it sustains, through, cold, dark nights;it’s your, Together less!