Random posts by random folks
If you feel that you must choose
then please: do not choose me.
I don’t think that I could live
with that fact willingly.
Don’t put a bell on the grave
of these–our memories–
let time and worms be fattened
upon its treasury.
If you should think on this, well,
the notion disabuse.
Leave it behind. Go forward
with all that you did choose.
I think I’ll take a rocketship
and fly it far away,
this world has gotten far too small–
won’t miss me anyway.
I’ll fly directly to the stars
which are so far apart
to constantly remind me of
the scattered, broken heart.
Now was it yours or was it mine?
I hate that I forget.
But all this space will do us good
if I could leave orbit.
. . .
then suddenly
it starts to make sense
it’s all over now
there’s no recompense
time didn’t stop
the world kept turning
and hearts can still break
still, that one takes learning
. . .
The many things
I could never see before
parade on the empty grounds
of my heart,
loud reminders
of the soft and gentle ways
that she made life better
and
hideous sights
of the grace and beauty
she embodied
The heart is an ugly looking muscle
that has long been made
to look like something
it is not.
The heart has a purpose,
a practicality,
a pulse that gets
the body and the mind
working together by its many
intricate vessels.
The heart is an ugly looking muscle,
that is to say,
it ain’t pretty but we’d all die
without it.
Beauty does not equal function
nor does function equal perfection–
I do not literally die
when I hear how hard you are
on yourself;
my heart keeps beating, aching,
wondering how your heart
clearly ain’t showing you
what every other practical one
sees clearly.
It often skips a beat,
something normally abnormal,
but understandable
when it senses you.
It doesn’t literally die,
it functions like it should.
The heart is an ugly looking muscle
and it’s beating in this imperfect vessel.
This heart is an ugly looking,
imperfect muscle
but it knows a good heart
when it sees it.
What scared and scarred me more
than the love that I professed
was how I walked away
and my heart did not protest.
Do monsters feel regret
in the deeds they’ve committed?
Do monsters feel reprieve
when these things are admitted?
With a sinking feeling
and a hope it wasn’t true,
my heart and mind agreed
that the true monster was you.
Are you going away
with no words of farewell?
I guess that is proper to do.
For I held your heart
so loose in my hands,
never noticed
it falling through
Words, like bullets, fired
aimlessly at each other.
No impact, just noise.
* * * * *
Ringing ears, beating
hearts, calm demeanors. It the
silence that is heard.
* * * * *
Neither hot nor cold,
just doomed–it seems–to an
old viscous cycle.
In clumsy fits I broke her heart,
words and actions, both in part,
it was not what I had in mind
yet it always seems to find
this fellow with the clumsy hands,
the clumsy heart, clumsy plans,
plans that would not carry through . . .
her graceful heart then breaks anew.
Could it be
you and me
are drifting apart?
Could it be
you and me
have separate hearts?
Could it be
you and I
who tried to be true
were away
gone astray
to wherever new?
Got to go
so you know
I’ll always love you
even when
river’s bend
in new shades of blue
The Unnecessary Blog 