Utterance

A broken brush against my cheek,
A careful crashing in my heart,
A wholesome heavy-handed blow,
The bruising grows, week after week.

My desperate search, hands everywhere,
But I know bandage, no plaster,
Will make me heal faster, nothing I wear
Will hide them.

The new perfume, your love in bloom,
Yet the scent mistaken,
Your nectar taken, the sting remains,
But your wings cannot take the strain,
But in flight you feign blossoming,
In your costume.

Before you were embraced,
By the apathetic hands of time,
You basked in synthetic prime,
The light infiltrated the poetic rhyme,
But you could not resist, as sweet
Variation insists, that change
Created this shock, belated,
But soon your other half elated,
By desires dwelled on for too long,
That the idea of symmetry seems not strange,
But the thoughts you've held,
Have led to imagination, dilated.

And I, the magnetic tree,
Who draws these traits, in order to be,
Able to draw up moisture,
And drown my state.
The constant immobility,
Renders me into stone.
I am held straight my by branches,
Yet left on my own.

My once fated self,
Has now lost all fate.
My once weighted self,
Has now lost all weight.
My once gated self,
Is now open for debate.

What is the difference, between
Love and hate?
For is hate not simply,
Love too late?