The Bridge

Days that now I spend thinking of you;
Writing my feelings down with a word or two;
Of love, of hate, of kindness and how you betrayed;
And how have I lost and led myself astray...

Now my own words betray too as they won't come;
To my mind, to my soul, to my heart called its home;
Such tragedy is a life of a poet so broken so lost;
When feelings stuck forever inside so numb like frost...

Gone are those days I when I read and recite;
Thinking of feelings that our heart fails to hide;
At times I wonder if what I write is ever true;
Of faith, of fate, of destiny I really have no clue;

I also write of dark, of light, of shadows and silhouettes;
For everywhere I could see you, you're all that I can sense;
Between these mixed feelings I try to express the love I have;
Hoping that someday you would tell me that you really care...

And I believed love is but words and nothing more;
Like they're a bridge between an ocean and a shore;
My very own words for you, words that now make me sad;
In letters, in regards, in kind; look at me now, alive yet so dead!