Abstraction

I could’ve died, the graffiti from your mouth

Concrete memorials given under cover of night

The kind devoid of color

Sharp, dark, angry, and angular

Where, the morning after, the smart people come in, clean up, and move on as though it never happened

It should’ve never happened

No Mere Myth

‘Tis true, love is a madness
Yet not merely, tho’ entirely
And its abode a wrongful ill
Yet I, at home in love
Nonetheless


Original thought Credit:
William Shakespeare; “Love is merely a madness….”