Hearts Still Care

Poet

I may be a poet –
I think it must be true;
Because I write in rhyme;
When I think of you.

It’s simple and it’s plain
That love makes lyrics flow;
I’ve read poets in love
And think it must be so.

But you don’t like to write,
Or read my contrived rhyme –
So then are you in love?
Or am I wasting time?

Or maybe I am bad,
In words and loving you?
I think I am a poet –
But now don’t know what’s true
?

After all that is said and done,
Certain days are never mine.
Words spoken at night
Never form action in time.

Faith and family take precedence
And the love that dare not speak its name
Must lie silent.
These aren’t rules
That change in any straight game.

There will be lovers who promise:
They would never be this way;
But none can keep their vows alive
Or make any resolution stay.

They believe balance must be met,
Between lovers and family –
And I say, for me, it’s simple:
Lovers are already family.

It’s a darkness I touch every day
It comes from having lost so much
It comes from bitter experience
Seeking abstractions I cannot touch

It’s a hope that is out of reach
No matter what I do, feel or teach
I cannot trust the positive trope
Though trust is what would help me cope.

It’s seeing a possible future
I know may still not come to pass
Of not knowing the diamond I have
Is not just another piece of glass.

It’s being breathless and bereft
Certainty of death is all that’s left
And it’s not really helpful to see
That no one else can help me but me.