An Unrequited Game
Do tell me,
if my words are just but metaphor to you,
meaning nothing in a solemn way,
stretches upon me are scars of unwanted words,
from the truth that beholds every single lie,
and such and such still bore nothing to you,
what a waste of a poet life to be said,
but alas,
no amok need doing,
for we are all not but in a confusing manner,
of shattered dreams and smothering truth,
does it hurt when I held your hand?
dishonesty never flow through your eyes,
does it hurt if I flatter you with all the truth that you own? ,
ignorance just a denial in denial,
so please do tell me,
if this unrequited feeling I had,
is just a game to be played by one,
To love,
such a withered symphony,
with a blind maestro and deaf musicians,
and so the music played on,
only to be heard of its beauty by the audience,
so be it,
we are the cause, we are the players,
in a gentle manner, sluggishly obeying,
for you my dear,
I'm am but never a loser to be call,
till then,
roll the dice,
it's your turn...
poem by Syafiq Syahmi
Added by Poetry Lover
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