a fantasy of love is
a sinkhole
full of water and deaths,
of hearts torn in sacrifice to
false gods, human gods,
indignities, caricatures of reality

I gave everything to them
believing
because it was easier,
because it was the program,
the curriculum,
the single choice available to me

it made of me a cenote,
drowned my heart in waters
caught
by the stony hole
in the indifferent jungle

sank me
in a deep blue hole
waiting to be discovered
by you, who made
of me a treasure, a precious cargo
priceless
worthy
beloved


c. 2023 Roberta Compton Rainwater

The civilization of
poets has thinned out.
There's a drought of
metaphors and symbolism.
We are all prisoners in
a musty attic.
Where is Emily when
you need her?
I'm afraid they've gone
the way of the graveyard.
Too much ***** and
too many broken hearts.

Where have all the
painters gone?
Sunk deep in
cobalt blue.
Artists resurrect!
Come out and play.
These are days full
of sumptuous sunrises,
and nights laden with neon.
I long for those
Jagged edges and brush strokes
that bleed pain and love.

Art changes our world.
It makes the brutality
bearable.
The smell of paint and old
books, transport us to
a gentle place laced with
ambrosia that we all
should drink.

You are the morning ray
into my dreaming eyes
I enjoy you every day
as my early sunrise

You are the blooming flower
in my teeming garden
I delight in your scent
as the adoring bees

You are the gentle shower
on my yearning skin
I cherish your drizzle
as the green leaves

You are the moonlight
in my dark night
I relish your surging tide
as the ocean waves

You are the bright star
in my broken sky
I love you so much
more than anyone else

they try and change opinions
as they try to change your mind
they try their best to lure you in
then try and have you question why

they try to remove all of the guilt
they try to justify
try as they might they never will
when all they do is try and lie

they try to win the argument
they try to brush aside
they try to explain what they meant
they try but it's all hype

they try out of desperation
cause these are desperate times
try and explain away these darkened days
as they try and hide the signs

they try to pass it off as love
try and relate but it's just hate
they try but it is never enough
they continue to try but it's too late

you float like an enchanted nebula in my mind,
pass like the clouds inside my veins,
are the easiness of breathing in my dreams
you forget me for millions of seconds in the imaginary time
you are more real than reality itself in your spontaneous combustions
so that I destroy you each day inside my bones,
I ignite the narrative of dawn, the blueness of your ribs
I forget about you like I forget crying in the aliveness of lovers
I need to forget you like one forgets faraway explosions, storms and miracles because I love you with all the songs of the wind,
the wind that spreads the seeds further away from each other the same way the flow of mystery so precise is carring us further and further away towards ourselves

Winter has a raw and savage charm
he will not bow a knee to Spring
nor Spring bend down to Summer
for the fertile warmth she brings
and in her turn that green and gracious lady fair
makes no atonement to the Autumn
for the fruit he bears