If love was created only for one,
Beginning would stop before it was done;
The ending could never come to its end:
If not for inception – there is nothing to spend.
The flowers could not bloom in shadow, they die,
The light’s simple truth that casts out a lie;
Until you’re put down to doubt and crawl
You cannot discover the well of your soul.
Sometimes I could swear, it went the worst way,
But I understood as the sky had gone grey:
There’s so little beauty in the easiest path,
And spirit’s uplifted in storm’s heavy blast.
One grows only stronger by love and not crime.
The poem is not only made by a rhyme.
They’re cracks of a soul, not pieces of mind,
One’s poetry is what they’re hiding behind.