It is only the work of the practiced brush
Of a heart, seeking only to maim and crush.
Escape, before you’re lost in his embrace!
His heart knows naught of what his lips birth;
The ‘I love yous’ are nothing but empty words
Don’t listen, else they bind you like cords
When you cry he’ll only look on with mirth!
His pencil mark smiles will soon be erased,
Then his beauty, like plucked petals, will wilt;
Words are covered bowls, oftentimes empty.
A cow cares not for the field to be grazed
And a hand plucks scented petals without guilt
The foolish heart soon sheds tears, aplenty.
Written by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.