My Love Is a Kite
My dearest love is like unto a kite,
He flies away into the sky each time.
He often slips into the blackest night.
I wonder if what he does is a crime.
Maybe his is not black and white, but grey.
The line between is foggy and unclear,
He doesn't realize he breaks hearts all day,
Or that his presence induces much fear.
I'll try to win his heart with each moment.
Each time my trust shatters it is repaired.
My soul cries with agony as its rent.
I try not to think that he never cared.
My dearest love is like unto a kite.
How does one soul keep him from taking flight?