It can only be stitched together
          with understanding
   The holes filled
               with trust
        And the missing pieces replaced
                    with love
            
             But a Broken Heart will always
                         remain *broken

I think I need to fall in love
with a poet.
So that maybe all the words
and all the hurt won’t always be mine.
I need to fall in love with a poet
so that he will whisper words
that sound better than stories and
don’t need to last as long.
I want to be the one to fall in love
with a poet.
He can make me feel something
so that all the love and the futures
won’t always come from another. And I
will write stories about us
in another world with better lives
where poetry will be sung from
the love, which dies so poetically
and I will know that I loved
a poet.

.
   Curious minds,
      splashing under
       moonlight
       With
      outstretched kisses
     pulsating yellow,
     Over the awestruck
      magical
       rainbow,
         Feverishly tracking each
         supernova
      on sight.

   Resting the moment
    on a
     cresting knoll,
    With
   an audience of several
   time-worn
     rocks.
      Whilst the
        whistling sirens
        in the winds do call...
          Wasting away
        the ticks of
     worldly
      clocks.

        Evading with class,
       all
       heart's turbulence,
        Craters of sadness
          congeal
           in thin air,
             Glamorous amnesia
             falls
          with cadence,
         Eyes wide shut,
         susurrating
          a
           lost prayer.

             Lifeless gazes
               yield
               only
             abrasive tears.
             As erratum
              catches up
                with its
                 gaping maw.
              Hurling
            its anguish
             in
             rips and shears,
              Bleeding out
                of
               singing wounds
             so raw.

             But...
              time carries confident,
                its stock of
                   soothing balm.
                   Latent doses
                 hidden
                within
                 invisible vials.
                  Welcoming vision
                    with its
                    sunlit palms,
                   Staving the longing
                    for the
                    fear of trials.

                      Now hushed
                         remain the remorseful
                        battle trenches,
                        Deprived of their own
                          victims
                           ­ save gaping wounds,
                            Only
                        ­     faint faith
                                commanding
                ­                   corroded limp
                                   forces,
                                 Stirring
                                light away
                               from
                                all
                        ­         agony
                                    and
                   ­                doom.


                              Moonskittles
           ­                 *ryn

Good morning thing of beauty for I wrote you before you wake,
Good morning thing of beauty for my breath you surely take,
Good morning thing of beauty you're the reason my heart aches,
Good morning thing of beauty for a smile I wish to make.
Love, Michael