Wish It Were That Simple

What is love?
Can this humble poet answer?

How I wish it was that simple
to write what I feel,
for I have yet to translate
the language of the heart
that which is uttered from the lips
of once upon a times;

What is love?
I often try to define.

Letters alone are but a sigh
and those that stand together,
pillars holding up
so grand an emotion,
yet no thought
ever climbed to its pinnacle
and as a chain
though strong and rich,
I know too well
so much can happen
between the lines;

Once more I will ask what is love?
But how can one who lies and betrays answer?

How I wish it were that simple,
a time when mistakes
were as new as we,
when one night in your arms could undo,
instead patience's weary fingers
have today a far more tangled knot;
yet you choose to love me....... still

For the last time I will ask what is love?
yet this humble poet's pen is tied.

Oh how I wish I were an artist
instead of a writer!
Why? you ask,
because with just a few strokes
perhaps I could paint it,
for it would simply yet completely
be a portrait of you.