Tag: love

If I were to stand on one side,
Opposed to the world and the ties that bind,
Which would you choose? Me or those?
What would my eyes see? What would my heart find?

Oracles in my life warned in vain:
‘Find one who knows his choice, one who knows to fight;
The one who knows what is dark,
One who can shield and yet guide you to the light.’

Choices, after all, are often heart-made;
And there was your face – you came to me as a better choice,
The gentle heart behind golden eyes,
No matter the length of years or lack of diligent voice.

The time was such.
But beginnings are always passionate, star-bright,
You used to bring me flowers,
Those hours of impatient wait, those miss-you nights.

But things change,
There is so much to write;
If only I could lose …
If only you could fight.

If I were to stand on one side,
Opposed to the world and the ties that bind,
I know what you would choose,
And your regret of what you leave behind.

22 January.
5am

The sky has dropped its foul, grey hue
Upon this world and me;
And when the wind comes howling through,
It brings no felicity.

The birds have lost their will to sing,
And mourn this darkened hour;
The sun becomes a had-been thing,
Which once had supreme power.

Those clouds that touch the earth are dark
And cover the surfaces of seas;
While ashes billow with each spark
And hound all like swarms of bees.

The world has no more flowers to offer
And there are thorns, thorns in my way;
And, I know, my blooms lie in a coffer,
But my thorns will not wilt away.

4th August

When you know what has been on my mind,
Insecurities and heartache, I let you find,
You behave as though a fly buzzed past
Which was more insignificant that the last.
My exposed heart burst with frantic pain,
So I pick it up and squeeze it once again.
I don’t like to see it fallen at your feet,
Your nose turned from the smell beneath.
I don’t like my blood upon your shoes,
You’ll be hampered if your laces come loose.
And I wouldn’t want you to soil your hands,
They are needed to care for your sought-after glands.
The appendages of others, too, need your tending,
So I pick up my heart – it’s just a matter of bending.
I want to let the poor, smelly thing die –
But I can’t let it – I don’t know why!
Perhaps some other hands
Were made to let it rest –
Hold and love it, seal and protect it,
Though within my chest.

8th May
10pm