The Empty Canvas.

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Blog Post About This Poem.

The most beautiful part of the day passed unknown,
When I wrote a hundred more dreams for mind to see,
But dear for the welfare of yours unknown to me,
I gave away every blessing I got for the dreams I wrote.

Those dreams through time like waterfalls cascaded,
And into oblivion, they passed, like every day into history scrolled.
The echo of a question universe through time and space left,
“Why didn’t you live those dreams where she loved you?”.

Somewhere in my mind, I said, “The weaving of a dream,
Is like loving a girl, every bit of your emotion you take,
And paint it with her, every reality of yours you see her in,
When she can’t love you back, all you are is an empty canvas.”.

Conscience never minded to question me again,
None can win an argument about love for love is real,
Love is soul and we know it is there but through no sense can feel,
When love is lost, Oh’, nothing feels real, except the falling tears.

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