Love is a beggar


is meant to be lost,

from the calling card

you were handed with a wink

to the love letters

that made your heart scream and sink



would come and go

leaving and passing through

your handcrafted door

When he left,

I locked it up,

swallowed its rusty key whole



fleeted away with the wind

leaving me 

in the hands of Death


is a beggar I pledged 

to never feed again


But Life 

comes home one day,

with gifts on both bare hands

A man with his heart on his hands;

A heart with a hole in its glands

He needed me

I needed him

But the question still lives on, 

"Does this love have the strength to hold on?" 


Then out of the blue 

in one afternoon, 

the key inside me reappeared 

on my arson hands in one happenstance. 

I pushed through his heart

and saw it fit

At last, a warm embrace

At last, some warmth in my days


is a beggar

but it's fed me again

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Love — in a new perspective. 

lyrycsyntyme's picture

Love can be a beggar, indeed.

Love can be a beggar, indeed. Ironically, well fed, sometimes it can forget it will soon need to eat again. I appreciate your thoughtful, emotive piece.