What people call love (poem)
You live in a house made of glass.
It’s fragile,
So I make sure to be careful around you.
I cry sometimes,
When I see you but cannot touch you
Because you are behind the glass wall.
Sometimes I wonder
If you can hear me at all.
The glass is so crystal clear
That birds of my words
Occasionally crash into it.
When that happens,
I lift them up and hold them gently--
Tiny balls of feathers.
After a while, they seem better.
And then they are ready to fly toward you again.
They probably hope
That one day the glass will disappear.
Is that silly?
Or is that what people call love?
It’s fragile,
So I make sure to be careful around you.
I cry sometimes,
When I see you but cannot touch you
Because you are behind the glass wall.
Sometimes I wonder
If you can hear me at all.
The glass is so crystal clear
That birds of my words
Occasionally crash into it.
When that happens,
I lift them up and hold them gently--
Tiny balls of feathers.
After a while, they seem better.
And then they are ready to fly toward you again.
They probably hope
That one day the glass will disappear.
Is that silly?
Or is that what people call love?
*Go to the list of all poems in English.