This ache,
this searching
how rawly
I feel your absence
Selfishly ignoring
your heart
reaching out
trying to connect
a lifetime of circling
without closing the gap
Ironic
illusion
of distance
This ache,
this searching
how rawly
I feel your absence
Selfishly ignoring
your heart
reaching out
trying to connect
a lifetime of circling
without closing the gap
Ironic
illusion
of distance
Do not apologize –
the fault lies not with you
Love, while lauded for its cures,
is not always compensation
for a life of turmoil –
I know you loved her
Watched as you let your dreams slide
heart wringing with your own sorrow
There was just something about her
men lined up to grasp… to make her
What? Theirs? Happy?
It was not to be
She barely possessed herself..
Even in death, I reach for her
try to define the ruse,
but her essence is elusive
No, you are not at fault…
for she was never really there.
(Mirage first appeared April, 2021. Image mine)
Melancoly drags –
one young lovelorn foot stuck in
regret’s muddy path –
ignores what is near, mistakes
what if for what is. Tragic.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter. Image my own)
Like Atlas, I bear
the world’s weight
call it responsibility –
a painful delusion
requiring walls
Life has its own rhythm –
light and dark,
joyous and sorrowful –
orchestration outside
of my domain
Love, however,
is limitless
in its capacity –
open-hearted acceptance
protection in itself.
Trading one focus
for another
permits appreciation –
I vow to assert love
and forgo control.
Revisiting capacity –
this old heart
more accommodating
than once imagined
Awe-inspiring
this perspective
wealth undiscovered
the fullness of being
Jealousy, such bile,
gnaws away at resolve
if I am not careful –
challenging, but I am wilful
Stay focused
task by task
there is no loss
in colouring the world
love rose
only endless bounty.
Euphoric, wrapped
in silent aftermath,
love’s vibration
still aglow
Push aside
the fear
the effort
it took
to get here
Bask in the moment –
tomorrow, I’ll cry.
(In The Moment first appeared here in December, 2019. Image my own.)
Disregard the obvious –
I know how time has marred me
Disregard the glare –
eyes clouded with cynicism
A fledgling heart beats
within this disheveled nest
Come closer and behold
a childlike yearning for love.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter. Image my own)
We’ll venture
into the city
Pretend our bones
are not dust
Ignore our fails
Hearts soft
Love nostalgic
Hold hands
like lovers
Location historic
(ours alone)
celebrate resilience.
(Today we celebrate our anniversary. Image my own)
The gambler puts in fifty-cents
expects hundreds in return;
a simple flick of the wrist
and abundance will be his.
I feel like a slot machine:
paying dues for minimal input.
Tells himself there is more
to be had, if luck runs his way;
walks away from the richness
of family, joy of friendships –
Id’ be a slot machine for him
if love equated with money
Dreams of possibilities beyond
his daily reach, a fast track plan:
fortune is calling, palm itching
just one more roll of the die –
The die has been cast here;
no longer willing to gamble.
One more momentous win,
a promise to share the wealth;
what more could any woman want
from a man – half an empty dream?
Took a chance, myself once,
thought he was my windfall…
guess, in the end, all gamblers lose.
(Originally penned Gambler in July, 2016. Image my own)
Was willing to settle
even before casting off
anchorless, with no compass
to guide me, nor oar to steer
left fate to the currents
a vessel adrift; naïve
trusted those with power
to rescue me, unaware
of the target vulnerability
made of me, that sharks
like to circle wayward
boats, certain of a catch
no wonder, when finally
I came ashore, wrecked
I had lost faith in love,
turned hope to cynicism
had failed to register
the dangers of sailing
into uncharted waters –
the necessity of navigational
resources, and a life jacket,
the knowledge to stay afloat
and safe, in a sea where
discernment saves hearts.
(Washed Ashore first appeared here July 2018. Image my own)