None of Us Would Be Poets

 
There are those who write about love they've never had
what could have been?
forever wondering why, the spark wasn’t ignited?
and why, what could have been their greatest love story
never even got to its beginning 
never knowing that love
yet every day, every night craving it 
 
then, there are those
who write about love that's lost
 
lost through the ripples of life's ever flowing tide
that sometimes washes everything away 
leaving us heartbroken to the point
it feels as though our eyes are crying blood
and our hearts have been stabbed a thousand times
 
and yet, somewhere in the middle of all that
 
there are those who are content with what they have 
never knowing nor needing anything
but that, in which they have
 
I wonder is it really possible for anyone
to really understand another humans pain?
to empathize or show compassion
toward that, they do not understand?
 
I'd like to believe it's possible because
without love…
 
none of us would be poets