The sandpaper of time has scrubbed my heart of love,
they say it's easy, they say its simple.
the torture of hymns for the quite peace, was not enough to keep the peace alive,
buried my body selflessly in soil for the rose to grow up the skull.

I say it's tough, I say it's pain,
the more we look at the clouds, the more we wish it to rain,
I love watching the rain washing away the ugly dirt,
I love pushing myself towards my love, towards my worth.

At last the poets die with their poems manuring the dirt,
with their letters by their side and their pen inside their shirt.
I love it when a poet write about pain and how it strengthens love they said,
I love it how the color of both blood and rose is all red.