Sometimes I can only bring you poetry where thoughts would otherwise lie like memories inked upon the page. Sometimes this poetry tells you all that you need to know and sometimes it unrolls like smoke as you read and reread.

I can’t tell you what kind of poetry this piece will be. I only know that I have written it and that it is unedited, uncut, unmuddied by further thought. It is as it was written. It is as it was first thought.

Writing it helps. Releasing it sets it free.


Weakness takes me over
Full i’ the throat. And thick.
Like the vilest cud, rolling my tongue
And making me sick.
Of this interminable aching
I know no earthly cure.
I start speaking and shaking
With the sadness I endure.
I’ve known no hurt like this
Or felt such bitter pain.
The hopeful hopes I had
Have been all but slain.
All is lost. All is gone.
Handle me softly and still
With words that won’t burden or kill.
Laced fingers, laced hearts, laced hopes.
Silence that binds with harsh ropes
Crushing the air in my lungs
And bursting my heart with those rungs.
But Love you must let go
And if it really is to be so
Then it will come back to you
If it is soulful and true.
But if it stays forever away
Then the aching pain of everyday
And every salty tear upon your lips
Is worth no more than spirited sips
From the half-empty bottle in your hand
Filled with notions you don’t understand.
You cannot force love with guilt
No matter the burning jilt
Or the aching in your chest
Wishing only for the best.
Because it will come back to you
If it is soulful and true,
Washed free of lies.
Bare bones. Bare heart. Bare love.

Red rose

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