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What I thought was love
Was really just head knowledge
Love is way deeper!

Such grace, undeserved!
Too obscure for mere mortals
God's agape LOVE!

Unconditional!
Loving me beyond my will-
And without merit!

Loving me dearly,
He instilled His love in me
Letting me love Him...*


© Raphael Uzor
The subject of love has been gravely adulterated due to gross frivolity!
My skin is ******—
John Moffatt, with scorpion chest,
  .  .  .  Reads with a mean wit.
These arms
would love
to hold you
close again.

These hands
would wish
to bless
above your brow,
through mist,
somehow.

Theses lips want
to kiss your forehead
as they did
before you died.

These eyes want
to collect the tears
they've shed
and swim to you
through time's hold.  

These words,
my son, these words,
seem too fragile
for their task,
too frail to convey
the love I have,
hope they get to you,
not fail.
FATHER MOURNING HIS SON.
the problem with
being a poet in love,
is that you savour
& trust each word your lover has
without  question.

we are simply in love
with bare literature,
spoken from the lips of someone we hold
in higher regard
than ourselves sometimes.

when you love a poet
each word you utter,
should be a piece of artwork

each sentence,
a highly thought out structure of awe and beauty to leave us seeping
in the warmth of your voice
caressing such fine words

so when deciding that you love someone,
who writes or reads
fill their souls with beauty, memories & truth especially,
for a poet's heart breaks at ease.
thoughts.
If I had wings
I would not fly:
I sure would preen.
We're the leaf falling.
Moving, carried slowly
Touching, scraping the sidewalk,
Ripping, tearing under feet
Drying, crumbling into tiny pieces
Scattered, spread, carried in separate directions.
We're the leaf falling.
Well, I lost a friend.
It happens.
No, he ain't dead.
But it hurts nonetheless.
A great way to start the day :D
I am undone by your
eyes
burning through my
lies.
10w
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