by Mike C Bunker
Passion falls on those who fall at features of dismay.
They change, convert, in other words run when they are swayed.
The truth be told, I never know what love is or isn?t.
All I swear is till this day I will always be this smitten.
My glass is filled to tops of endless ends of bars and pubs.
The less I care the more I swear that Angels soar too high above.
Look, but do what others sooth in, glancing in and out;
not to think of how life is when life comes near to mine.
And all I know are those hours that gave my life some reason.
Now all I have are those hours that prove to be like seasons.