They Say

They say that love is like a fire
but ours never held a flame
they say that love is like a storm
but it was always just me and the rain

Passion; they say, and ecstasy,
hearts beating like a drum
But ours was mediocre
and it never saw the sun

They say that love is like falling
but all we knew was gravity
they say that it feels like magic
but all we had was reality

The colour of love is red, they say
but ours was dull and grey
And I felt just as lonely in your company
as I did when you went away

The heart dies a slow death, they say,
shedding hopes like leaves in autumn
but I doubt your heart had life at all,
it was one already broken

I don’t know why I’m writing this,
why I’m taking the time to care
they say that poetry is from the heart
but you were never there

Yet the time we spent together,
it lingers on my mind
There with other foolish questions
and answers I cannot find

So I’ll twist a poet’s words
to replace answers I haven’t got;
‘A little love is a dangerous thing
drink deep, or taste it not.’