Sweet Love Sublime

My wounded heart,
The treasured center of my fervent desires,
Is still reeling from love’s ripe cancellation,
It aches with the very thought yesteryear,
As both my writers’ inclination,
And pragmatic feelings,
Have been perverted,
Shattered into pieces that no longer seem to fit,
The puzzle of life an intense mystery,
That no longer seems apparent or understood.

My wounded heart,
Trembling with the fear of desire,
Designed by the complete reversal of love,
Wonders how I ever could have been such a fool,
Destitute lover,
Wandering your dreams and desires,
While suffocating at the suggestion of anything less than selflessness,
Depriving myself for you, the real self, the one that no one sees,
But can feel,
Giving freely of my dreams and aspirations,
That you may soar.

My wounded heart,
Precocious in its affect,
Seeks answers that are nowhere to be found,
As your smile is as distant,
As the nearest star,
And just as cold,
As the vacuum of space,
Those elusive answers,
That are like little paper cuts,
Ripened by lime.

My wounded heart,
The treasured center of my fervent desires,
Have designs for a life of solitude,
Hidden from the wintry gale of unrequited passions,
Crying out from deviant suggestions,
Somewhere deep within,
That demand, proclaim and require,
This solitary journey,
To destination unknown.

My wounded heart,
Screaming out in vain,
Feels impervious to new submissions,
As my heart of incredulous counsel,
Is not willing or able to be ready,
For my greatest desire,
Sweet love sublime.



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