Love is in this place,
what if I am not?
I've hidden my face,
from Love I forgot.

Love’s in search of me,
Am I to be found?
Love wants to call me,
Can I hear its sound?

When feeling alone,
Love draws itself near,
And makes itself known,
But what do I hear?

Love so immanent,
Found me unaware.
Not by accident.
It looks everywhere.

The world sings love, from lover to lover,
And what if I, don’t love enough as they?
Reed warblers trill to love as they hover,
Love on their mind, they sing their heart away.

When the time comes, they exist for one thing,
Like the love that makes the hooded grebe dance,
And grasshoppers with no heart still can sing,
While I, lowly I, have not their romance.

The beasts in their beauty know more than I,
In their love season, their love is complete.
They show love as if they don’t they will die,
But I love from the depths of self-conceit.

When a lovebird calls, he holds nothing back,
How I wish I could love as much as he!
Nature gave instinct for love that I lack,
The song of the songbird is not in me.

Ink wraps its arms around an idea,
Tracing letters that act as messengers
Of hope sent from some remote area,
With defiance towards its challengers.

The ink once it’s written speaks its own voice,
Like a child set free from its parent’s pen.
The pen having etched its lines made its choice
To have its intent not matter again.

Caring for all these children in my head,
They mature the moment that they are penned.
As confidently as they each have fled,
They don’t reflect on me as I intend.

Each word is a child that I have let go,
The ink no more under the pen’s control,
Out in the world seeing what I don’t know,
But into these children I wrote my soul.

“Broken” is an understatement.
“Broken” is like a pencil’s tip.
“Broken” is just an annoyance.
“Broken” is something fixable.

Love heals what is beyond broken.
Love repairs total destruction.
Love rebuilds a thousand pieces.
Love reforms embers and ashes.

“Broken” is too facile a term.
“Broken” heals if just left alone.
“Broken” is the every day.
“Broken” is not in need of love.

Love is wasted on the broken.
Love puts soul in a crumbled self.
Love takes on what no longer is.
Love can make people out of dust.
Love does so much more than repair.
Love is the act of creation.

Flayed and tattered,
Torn and shattered,
Bruised and battered,
Never mattered.

Self-invocation,
Self-immolation,
Self-molestation
No consolation.

Bridges burned,
Lovers spurned,
Disgrace earned,
Nothing learned.

Heart conflicted,
Soul afflicted,
Self-inflicted,
Contradicted.

Hard discipline,
But genuine,
The only sin
Is giving in.

I woke this morning, inevitably,
(Thank goodness), and air rushed into my chest.
I thought not of life, invariably,
But the joy (thank goodness) gives me no rest.

I woke up and I fell in love again,
With a woman who (thank goodness) loves me.
Heartbeats and breath are no comparison
To a lover (thank goodness) fine as she.

No sooner had the sunlight hit my face
I woke (thank goodness) ever more full of love.
While life as its own reward has its place,
I’ve her in my life (thank goodness) above.

Each morning I fall in love more deeply,
Waking up (thank goodness) to have the chance.
New day new chance for this love to greet me
With life (thank goodness) and also romance.

It’s taking too long to drink my coffee.
It greeted me with a piping hot smile
That relaxed me, now it’s lukewarm to me.
To bring back steam, I’ll nuke it for a while.

My eyes were too big for my morning roast.
It calmed so soon, I drank it too slow.
“A venti, please!” I told Starbucks to boast,
It grew cold as I got into my flow.

I’m certain this is what Starbucks intends,
A fine metaphor if ever there were.
All this caffeine on which life so depends,
An excess we all self-administer.

Tomorrow another twenty ounce cup,
Burnt mouth to more quickly go bottom’s up!