This is my take on love,it came to me about two years ago,then it was just a phrase,i came up with the poem later on.:)I hope you like it,please Review it.Critisism is welcome-but no Flames pls.thanks bye!
Love Is A Tortured Soul
Love is a tortured soul.
Drenched in the bearing of it’s kind, and the lost.
For it gets lost quite easily; it’s naïve and foolish-desperate.
Love is a tortured soul.
It’s always there, waiting for you to find it in it’s dark dim home, longing for another of it’s kind to relate and confide to.
They come sometimes, or so it thinks.
It’s always being teased by the light.
From within itself and outside, it doesn’t know what to believe.
It is tortured, such a horrid soul.
The light comes, it was so bright at first, too bright for the counterpart to handle-they broke.
There were other lights yes ,but they just glow, and were faintly shown.
The cold wind away blown them away.
This poor heart cried and sighted it wasn’t her fault, though she couldn’t understand why.
Love is a tortured soul.
It hasn’t bleed yet, it won’t get to that point.
Just emotional, unseen damage-straight from the heart.
Finally, some say and she was happy, if only for awhile.
Then the tortured soul saw the light.
There was nothing special about it, except it stayed ,that was special, that is special.
The heart is a joyful soul, no longer tortured.
It has found a home, safe and warm. It will never cry alone again.
Love is a tortured soul with a unique home in the end.
Love Is A Tortured Soul
Love is a tortured soul.
Drenched in the bearing of it’s kind, and the lost.
For it gets lost quite easily; it’s naïve and foolish-desperate.
Love is a tortured soul.
It’s always there, waiting for you to find it in it’s dark dim home, longing for another of it’s kind to relate and confide to.
They come sometimes, or so it thinks.
It’s always being teased by the light.
From within itself and outside, it doesn’t know what to believe.
It is tortured, such a horrid soul.
The light comes, it was so bright at first, too bright for the counterpart to handle-they broke.
There were other lights yes ,but they just glow, and were faintly shown.
The cold wind away blown them away.
This poor heart cried and sighted it wasn’t her fault, though she couldn’t understand why.
Love is a tortured soul.
It hasn’t bleed yet, it won’t get to that point.
Just emotional, unseen damage-straight from the heart.
Finally, some say and she was happy, if only for awhile.
Then the tortured soul saw the light.
There was nothing special about it, except it stayed ,that was special, that is special.
The heart is a joyful soul, no longer tortured.
It has found a home, safe and warm. It will never cry alone again.
Love is a tortured soul with a unique home in the end.