Maybe my heart
was born too small
for the love
it carries...

That's why it
shares it
just to
give itself
breathing
space

The scars of battle,
The Wounds of War,
Fallen warriors bleed
A river to red

But when a man
Is hurt, not by swords
But by consequences
Of love, of life

It's not blood that pours,
But tears of ink
Into the crumbled tapestry
Of a poet's heart

things which came to mind
when I read your poem,
I have been able to
flesh out with imaginative
reality, wrestling your
dilemmas to the floor
and pinning them there
while the poetic referee
pounded the mat, shouting,
and counting to three,
the match is over now,
and you can be free

We can be strangers if you like
We can talk about the weather
Our silly plans for the weekend
Or how life has been kind to us
Trust me, I'm a terrific actor
You'll hardly be able to tell

We can be strangers if you like
Or at least we can pretend that
It doesn't shred us to pieces...

and if they love you, they better make it real clear
cause I’ve been blind in love so many times, that
any sight of it now, my eyes quickly press clear

                               love is something I hardly see!

I am worthy of love
And I know I'm enough.