Though love may have wings,
though it may soar the skies,
flying high,
where none has ever reached,
the wings may still be cut off,
and the heart may bleed,
no matter how haigh it flies.
Love may fall
and never get up again.
And the words,
“time will heal all”
are just a lie.
For the world is a liar.
And your world,
and mine,
is just a stage.
We dance, prance and say lines already scripted for us.
Actors and actresses,
and us.
We throw our hearts into the air,
stapled, glued back together,
hoping they may fly again.
But we arn’t craftsmen,
and so they fall,
again and again and again.
We stand still,
not knowing what to do.
The script has fallen
and we wait,
for the curtain to fall.