Heavy is the heart
That knows of love
but has never lived it
Tired is the mind
Filled with knowledge
Never spoken

my self most intimate,
unspoiled,
keeping every scar alive,
albeit cloaked in metaphors
like bandages of silk
that hide the oozing;
my self most raw and
un-defiled,
unguarded,
revealed in phrases
composed to ponder
with your time;
is here in lines of poems
playing like a child in the trees,
like a game of hide and seek
a breeze may help you win.
but to find me
you must read between my lines.

Things get broken
Hearts
Minds
It's no-one's fault
It never is
Not really
Butter fingers and distraction
Without malice or forethought
Things
Like hearts and minds
Slip
And shatter on hard contact with reality