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If we were never
meant to be forever
why’s this pain
never leave me
I love paint on my fingers
the smell of oils on my skin
but you on my canvas
are my art
and everything
Before I hand you my heart to have
Have a heart and give me your hand
My Dear Poet May 9
You can take
every part
of my heart
the truth
and the lies
every page
from the start
but please
give me
your eyes

You can steal
my will
every seal
of my soul
every piece
of the whole
take my breath
and my sighs
but please
give me
your eyes

You can take
every chapter
for free
every part
you can see
what lives
and what dies
but leave
me your eyes
please

take all
you can find
from the lines
of my mind
to every piece
you can break
leave nothing
behind
so may I
for my sake
make your eyes
mine
I need you to see
every part of me
you take
My Dear Poet May 6
Nothing is as sweet as you
but you case the hardest pip
My Dear Poet May 5
I wonder if a poem
can cause
you to pause
just at the title
and then sigh
and in wonder why
something so powerful
can be so wonderful
that you forget
to read or need
anything more
beautiful
than this
and cry
My Dear Poet May 5
Then said Almitra, Speak to us of Love.
     And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them. And with a great voice he said:
     When love beckons to you, follow him,
     Though his ways are hard and steep.
     And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
     Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
     And when he speaks to you believe in him,
     Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

     For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
     Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
     So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
     Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself
     He threshes you to make your naked.
     He sifts you to free you from your husks.
     He grinds you to whiteness.
     He kneads you until you are pliant;
     And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.

     All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.

     But if in your heart you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure,
     Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor,
     Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
     Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
     Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
     For love is sufficient unto love.

     When you love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but rather, “I am in the heart of God.”
     And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

     Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.
     But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
     To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
     To know the pain of too much tenderness.
     To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
     And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
     To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
     To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
     To return home at eventide with gratitude;
     And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
I wish I had lived and met Kahlil Gibran. He’s like a friend I never had.
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