If I write, then I write
And the words
Small letters, alone meaningless
Construct the stream
Of thought, silently
A sign reflects the mind,
And again, it withers
In front of my eyes
Drops dead
Such as autumn leaves
Those, fall onto me
And like them, I die.
Ah! If they did not
Loved me this much,
Then I wouldn’t.
Pick them up,
Take them in my heart
Forever,
Such as words,
I bear, I kill,
I change and change.
For that is what we do,
Pathetically,
Day after day.
A.R. Brixton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/if-they-did-not-loved-me-this-much/
