The Sounds I Hear

Like a female,
Silent as wind,
Opening her black purse,
Like a crow,
Who wanders through the fields,
Making sure no one sees,
Like a secret love affair of a married woman,
With a married man,
Whom didn’t care if they are used,
Like Crayola markers

But they know,
Like a bird,
If they are caught,
They are screwed…

Like an engine of a bus,
Has many screws,
That are only gray,
But love,
Is as colorful as birds chirping
In the spring.

Unlike winter,
Dark, gray, black, sometimes silver…
Like a man,
Who only uses a woman for a while,
And leaves her,
Like leaves that have Fallen,
Fallen,
Fallen,
Fallen

From a lonely tree,
And are left on the grass,
Until winter is over,
And spring has come.

A new beginning for the female,
Who waits for a decent man,
To come and lift her
From the ground

But like a white board,
The marker is used to illustrate,
And in the end of the day,
Is erased.