Why Don't They Listen? by Autumn Eliza

What does he mean to me?
Don’t they know that he is my life,
And my reason to be?

Oh, I’m just mad about him,
The way he smiles and walks,
The way he gently holds my hand
During our evening walks.

He isn’t like those silly boys
who just boast, swagger and swear,
Their weird hair-dos, vulgar tattoos,
Their leers I can’t bear.

He is gentleness personified,
He is so modest and austere,
Oh, he is indeed a precious gem,
Shining with divine lustre.

And yet they put obstacles
In our path, I don’t know why,
Why they don’t want us to unite,
Why don’t they listen to my heart’s cry?

ⒸAutumn Eliza 2012

6 thoughts on “Why Don’t They Listen? by Autumn Eliza

  1. One thing that art can do is short cut through the tangle of philosophies and explanations to present an idea whole, apprehend-able. You have cut a pretty path through the semiotic question set up in the second line, written a beautiful picture.

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