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(This poem has no name)

What do I name this?

What is it that I’m even trying to name?

The words I’m writing? Perhaps it is,

But, no, this is no easy feat

Putting a name on these words,

Such a task requires more than I’m sure I have

What I write is my own, and what I have learned,

Is labels have limits, my own words do not

For my words are my heart, my soul, my mind,

My blood, my sleep, my bread and water

To squeeze what I feel under one umbrella and bind

With one word, I’d rather it soak

One word. One word.

Since when did it have to be one word?

When did the hearts of men cease loving at large

And obsess over brief and barren claims?

Claims of love, if you can call it that

Comparing the words of today with love

Would be like comparing a shoelace to a hat

I’d be spitting on the grave of love if I called it that

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Love exceeds all barriers of time

It reaches further than the farthest star

And brightens the corners where no light shines

Corners where I sit and enjoy the heat it brings

Love is waking up and seeing the mountains

When it was too dark to see when you arrived

Love is sitting alone in the darkest woods

With only the silence to hug your ears

Love is seeing the ground from way too far up

Love is lying upside down in bed just because

Love is hiding in bushes for the thrill of hiding

Love is the very silk all things are woven from

And oh, did I know love best

When she first walked into my life, a welcome guest

Her laugh, her smile, her hair, her eyes

Have drained my heart and charred my mind

I can’t sleep at night, for when I drift away

And close my eyes, her face still shines

The words she says, they bond and blur

And turn to a mirage of her

When her eyes catch mine, my insides whine

With hunger I can’t satisfy

The way her eyes crease when she laughs

The way she subtly tilts her head when I talk

The way she listens and understands like no other

What people forgot about love

How ironic.

I refuse one word, or even two

My title should be long and tedious

Like my love, for what I write is my own

And labels have limits, my own words do not

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