Our hands should fit like an unsolvable puzzle

With the missing piece hidden in our children’s future

Our eyes should be but a lovely sorrow

Cause love is blind to all but danger

A verbena’s nectar yet not as sweet

Still attracting an arousal from bumblebees

But a bee’s favorite honeycomb that's draining empty

Into a teacup of passion running cold

Next to a fire of eternal life

Did you see the youth of our past?

The wrinkles of fate and joy curse our faces

Yet my heart aches for your touch

Because love is not a rose

It's the thorns that make it real


This poem is about: 
Our world


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