| "Autor" |
...... |
|
|
|
geschrieben am: 24.02.2000 um 16:54 Uhr
|
|
[i]This poem is not an accusation or blame,
My own heart burns for you a lovers passion flame.
How great is my love? The words aren't enough to tell
Already my spirit has suffered living hell
When we met, you came into my life like a gift
That would forever be mine, never far to drift
It was much later I realized you had a love
That would leave me grounded like a broken-wing dove.
God made me for you, and you for me, as I know,
So why will you to a hate-filled heartless love go?
Because I'm yours, my love for you will never die.
For this truth I should be smiling; instead, I cry.
I can not share your heart with the lifestyle of death,
While you do that which will steal your mind, still your breath!
I hate your anger while you defend drugs and booze;
Those are not harmless diversions, so much to lose!
Why won't you despise all that, which truly hates you?
Oh, please, put them away and so keep what is true?
Heart of my heart, can you realize this my sad song
And fix my broken wing before all hope is gone?[/i] |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Top
|
