Lost Without Love
Sweet tears are the
kind that bring you hope.
Bland tears are the
kind that never cope.
My tears vary from
one to the other.
Currently sweet, as I
may have found another.
Another who may dry
these tears with a look.
From those eyes whose
mental picture I took.
But hope is just a
four-letter word.
I take a look at her eyes
and what I feel is absurd.
How could something be
returned back to me?
When I have nothing to
offer but my love for she.
