Its crushed flowers and broken glass,
Its lonely sleepless nights,
Its everything and nothing,
Its unreachable heights.
Its silence behind muted lips,
Its pearls that can't be found,
No more real than empty smiles,
Painted over frowns.
Its broken dreams and shifting sand,
A covered harvest moon,
Love locked inside a heart,
Is music without a tune.
It's like trying to hold the sunshine,
Like trying to catch the wind,
Broken sails upon life's breeze,
Its mountains that won't bend.
Its waves crashing upon my shore,
Determined to recede,
Who can hold a wave so great,
That's pulling back to sea.
What profit in a flower crushed,
What worth is broken glass,
What good are treasures that stay hid?
Or smiles wore as a mask.
Who pines for harvest moons unseen?
Or tuneless music played.
At broken sails the winds abused,
Or at receding waves.
I guess it's me, for it's my heart,
Unrewarding as can be,
It's full its empty, its silent screams,
It's love that cannot be.
Its distance far beyond my reach,
Its stars that cannot shine,
Its daggers piercing through my soul,
It is this love of mine.