Archive for the ‘Love Poems’ Category

And the Heart that beat within me

most will mistake for Mine.

But I knew where It truly rests-

It is thine, and thine- and- Thine.

When the Heart

rests behind Eyes-

and shocks one Giddy,

it- Blinds.

Where the bronze fire of your skin

almost seared my flesh,

there are, instead, these pale

pink petals giving me my identity-

separate from you.

It’s an awful thought to have- 

the thought that you may have come between two people.

If you believe yourself to be

a Bighearted person,

then do not let anger

or grief fester

in your thoughts,

or come across in your deeds.

This may seem so easily said,

and not so easily done,

but the truth is

that bighearted people

are most easily broken,

but also the most forgiving.

A big heart

is a house,

with thousands of rooms

for guests-

for every person

the heart’s owner

has ever met.

Metaphorical hearts can only be large

if they leave room for love,

and force hatred

out their doors.

And so I have to put aside

what fantasies I had.

And so I must try to silence the voice

in me that says “I’m yours.”

And so I must try to look at you

without blushing.

I must try to fight the urge to hold your hand,

to fawn over your smile,

to talk to you

simply because I like the way you talk.

I feel sad,

though I shouldn’t.

I haven’t lost anything,

not really.

I’ve gained a friend.

That’s something.

So,

I’m alright.

No less an organ

than the cardiac muscle

and sinew

of a regular human heart.

This heart dreamt.

It dreamt of love

in two hands, clasped;

in four eyes, twinkling;

in lips and words, whispered

and shouted,

and gestures and laughter

and memories

that have yet to be made.

Some of these dreams

turned into wishes,

and the wishes became so strong

they turned into prayers-

much like a chick

turns into a fledgling,

than spreads its wings

and flies.

The heart was shattered

by promises

that held as much weight

as stardust,

sweet words

that disguised the taste of cyanide,

and its own dreams

which it believed too much in

and had its natural rhythm disrupted by.

The shattered fragments

of the glass heart

belong to me.

They dig into my ribs

and say don’t believe

too strong

in dreams.

Dark fields

of coppery wires,

thin, curled, and soft as bedding in a cradle.

Mere glimpses

of patterned, colored cloth.

Stretches of cream

creating uniformity.

 

A red frog leaps in my belly.

Linen wash cloths dipped in warm water are pressed,

delicately, against my cheeks,

my neck.

The frog is kicking,

reaching for his wife

who is also jumping wildly,

pounding against my ribs.

 

I turn away

to simply breathe

and cool the frogs,

pull away from the linen.

 

I swallow,

then take the next step

toward you.

By end of day we’ll be apart.

Our fingers and lips will slip away,

but you will linger in my heart,

and we shall meet again, another day.

Love, friends, is

the real double-edged sword.

 

Human love can be absent

on one heart’s part

and thus be sweeter than a lie,

poisoning the other person.

 

Love is what can split a man

in two.

Love is what can cut a man deeply-

losing love, that is.

As humans

we look for love

in the in-sync beating of two hearts.

Which is why we are fools

who destroy

love.

 

But love

can be taken

and melted down

into plows,

and till the fields

so that buds may push

through and taste the air,

and blossom into strong stalks

and stand against wind and rain and storms.

Love is always there.

Even if the stalk is knocked down,

some seeds were shaken loose

and stuck in the fertile ground.

There they take root.

 

Love, dear friends,

is never a lost cause.

We could join hands

and walk down to the pier.

Look back and see the city lights-

those glowing orbs of white, yellow, and amber.

Look at the water-

so dark at this time, like black velvet.

Feel the cold, wind

biting at the tip of your nose,

air charged with an aura of ice.

Our hands

a heat source, keeping numbness

from settling in our fingertips.

You or I could ask,

out loud or in our heads,

“what is it all for?”

It’s killing time.

That’s all.

But I would rather kill time

with you, than anyone else.

You’re worth more

than the meager minutes I’m given

to spend with you.