Poetry

Not the first love
nor the second,
maybe not even the third.
But so far, this is the only one that's lasted
and had decided to bloom.

So I have let it grow..
watered it with tears..
fed it with luminous smiles..
and hoped that one day
maybe...

Our tears would turn into fruits, 
smiles into branches
and a single flower of a beating heart
would blossom at its height.
There is a promise.

A promise to keep this flower alive, 
alive and wide open
like my arms that never close
towards the one I love the most
Only to wrap around them.

And at the clove of summer and autumn, 
cherries fall down, our love will be planted
into the soil in which we stand in
a soil of hate, envy, 
shame.

But the seed will grow.
strive in the dry land
where no one understands..
no one takes a second glance
And a forest will eventually form.

But everything grows old..and one day must leave...
but our love will continue growing, 
Our initials engraved
deep 
into the trunk of our cherry tree.