Drawn across the paper.

The poet of a person, is all wrapped up in time.
Gathering the memories, they are trained to rhyme.
The pieces in the table, the hands upon the strings.
Recollecting feelings, some words began to ring:

"Why do we fall in love with fools,
why do we go and break all the rules.
As far as we know, love is always blind.
But thick enough to make us last...
pushing through the grind."

The hands slow the notes, and eyes begin to wander.
Waiting for the flood, that comes along with ponder.
The presence of a person, can be just as hard as leaving.
And every reader knows, a lover's painful grieving.

The soul knows no boundaries, only sudden wrong or right.
When it grasps at it's true love, it may be left without a light.
The eyes come back to the page, still without a reason.
Musing that a sprig of hope, may still be in season.