For love is what I write of.

Alone, I stand alone on this enclave

Nothing to see, nobody to call home

With this I will not become a slave

Instead I must grow deeper in love with the brome

Love is something I will never leave behind

You can bury it with me when I die

For I am not weak alone or blind

I will carry this even when I cry

My home is centered on these sunny days

For they keep me from going insane

Life passes me by in a phase

My bones start to shrivel in pain

Often times I see ships passing me by

But they will never know where I lie

Many people will be lost too

But not the way I feel without you

Alone, I stand alone on this enclave

Nothing to see, nobody to call home

With this I will not be a slave

For love

Is what I write of.

This poem is about: 
Me

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