Love is the essence of living. And there are days, which these days are most days when I feel it hurts too much to speak of love with careless abandon. I did so once. Perhaps even dared to do it twice. Once all was said done, I was left with a mere shell of my words.
If I dab my pen too much into love’s ink, it hurts. It hurts when I speak of what I had. It hurts when I speak of what I don’t have. It hurts to look at my empty hands and I realize even my wishes have slipped through my fingers.
© Romancing Life | 2017
These flowers, these petals, they do not belong to me. This fragrance, this essence, they do not belong to me. The soft Earth, the auburn sky, they do not belong to me. These paths, these rivers, they do not flow for me. My mind, my heart, they do not belong to me. The world owns too much of me. Only my soul is free.
The house of God refuses to grant me refuge and my demons will not have me.
How did I get to this place – in front of an alter with nothing to pray for? Scraped knees don’t make for good posture. With no evils to be exorcised, what I am left with is just bloody limbs and a hollow hope.
These halls of prayer grant me no solace. Curved ceilings and the stained glass only exist as reminders of the old.
I thought it better to seek refuge in the company of those who can no longer judge me. For graves don’t talk and the dead don’t hold accountable the living for their untold woes.
Like the death of a silent love. A love that lays quiet under an unmarked stone. A sin, no God could forgive and a deed no Devil could condone.
©Romancing Life, 2017
Roots of this discomfort were bred with our love. Sounds of pleasure easily replaced by an eerie silence. The night does not condone the sound of silent tears and the day cannot make to love to haunted smiles.
Oh, it’s been a long and lonely ride. Stumbling through this life, you’ve made a pit stop every time someone has offered to be kind. To love the rotten parts of you, just enough to keep you alive. In your desperation, you let them, knowing all too well, with every encounter your heart was crying. A little more each time. Eventually, the tears turning into oceans, and the waves pulling you towards the Eastern shores, where I reside. For your welcome, even the silver orb shines, illuminating the night sky. And, baby if the brightest beacon is not enough to guide you home, I’ll hang lanterns on the moon.
© Romancing Life (2017)