The heart's only purpose is to pump blood, and hurt

Love, for those of us who take it seriously, is a curse and a gift both, and from my experience, it is more curse than anything else. But there are. . ., were, moments.

I was looking through the old files on my computer, specifically those within the My Writing file, and more specifically, the file entitled Poetry within the My Writing file. When I first started dabbling in words, I didn’t consider myself to be a poet, but now, I know that every good writer is and has to be. I am not claiming to be a good writer, or even a good poet. That is for others to judge. I am merely saying what it is that I have come to realize, that every good phrase I have ever turned out onto the page, or every good sentence I have ever read is in every way, poetry.

Poetry to me: Words that emote and affect feeling.

And what emotes or affects feeling more than love?


Shattered

Would I recognize an angel were I to ever see one?
In the throes of first love
I have claimed many women to be Starry-eyed
With
Lustrous, Gossamer, Wings.

But there were no halos over their heads
And starry-eyes begot Pointy tails
And first love begot tight dull pangs
That hung in my chest
Causing every heartbeat
To Hurt Like Hell

I want to know a real angel
One I don’t have to extol with words
One that is heavenly
But not mired in the wars of Heaven

A woman I don’t have to build up

She just is
I just am
And we just are


Love for me has been a cycle of discovery, happiness, heartbreak, and pain. Heavy on the heartbreak and pain. As I read over my words from both long and not so long ago, I remember who they were written about, who they were created for, and the emotional state of my being as I wrote them.


Angel, You

In the long course of life
We all need a touch of the divine
Though in the course of life
It is often difficult to find
But I know an Angel, You

All eyes are drawn to beauty
True beauty; pure, natural art
Felt with more than just the eyes
But in every bit of the heart
And I see it in that Angel, You

Beauty I know I deserve not
Divinity I know I deserve not
Yet I exult in just knowing you
One the heavens so wondrously wrought
Such an Angel, You


Take away love and death, there is not much left to write about other than food and space aliens. Not much at all.


I Give

I give beauty unto beauty
and poems for wondrous souls
my heart for those who’ll take it
and for you, I give them all

A rose pales against you
and my words equate you not
my heart seems not big enough
though these things are all I’ve got

I try to trade for a smile
attempt to emote how I feel
and always show you my heart
so you’ll know my love is real


Nothing leaves you more vulnerable than a complete outpouring of the soul. When you give someone your heart, you are giving them too much. You lose all sense of mystery. I envy those who can remain aloof, those who are mysterious just because they keep their mouthes shut; those tall dark, wondrous creatures who have love thrown at them. They don’t have to create words. They don’t say anything, because they have nothing real to say. Their vapidness is their mystery. Cyrano versus Christian.


Girl

I feel nothing but love for you
And I add to that love with every second that passes
This love, I will always feel
It will always grow
For it is in every way
Unassailable
It will always be a part of me
It defines me
It is who I am
For without it
I would be an empty shell, a hollow husk
That could once lay claim to life
But can lay claim to it, no more


They come, they go, and each time, the hurt is a little bit deeper, a little more true, a little more painful.



Wretched

with silence does my heart speak
for it knows not the words
to express the reason that it beats
though that may sound absurd
it solely constricts and repeats
silently cursing this wretched world
that keeps you well beyond my reach
my beauty. . ., my love. . ., my girl


Curse this horrific existence. This monotonous, solitary, veritably, vociferous violation of the very simplest of human needs. I constantly, callously, clamor for comfort and companionship. Why is the whole of the world against me?

Oh, woe is me, woe is me, and blah blah blah. This is just life, and we live it following our strengths and weaknesses. Love is not easy for anyone. Except for those too stupid to realize it isn’t easy (Paris Hilton). I imagine it would be damn near impossible for anyone anywhere to love that gaping beast, except for those who exist solely in her imagination.

But I, myself, have known love. I have seen it lost, and found again. I have seen it leave, never to return. I have known the deepest of heartbreak and the sweet moments of pure bliss. I have known love all too well. And I know it still. I know it anew. It has yet to fully metamorphosize and it is as of yet, unrequited. But I am too easily a victim. Though it cripples my voice, I have made it known to her. And if she ever does requite, perhaps I can abandon this depressing nonsense once again, hopefully for good. If she doesn’t, it will hurt, but I will find love again.


Farewells and Goodbyes

A farewell for us used to be
Just a rather simple goodbye
You would wave and smile to me
And I would stand there and sigh

But each goodbye grew longer
Than the one farewell preceding
And as our love grew stronger
We felt less and less like leaving

I’d hold you tight and close to me
Your heart sitting right next to mine
Both beating slow and happily
That feeling, more than divine

Slowly, we loosened our grips
And looked into each other’s eyes
I’d place a kiss upon your lips
The soulful end of our goodbye

You’d leave, and I’d feel slightly down
My mood would start to worsen
For when you are not around
I’m not as content a person

So I just imagine a day
With our last goodbye at hand
But no fear of going away
For that goodbye will never end