The familiar ba-bump ba-bump,
Of spikes and valleys on the screen,
The electrocardiogram
Looked the same as it’s always been.

The doctor turned toward the nurse
And traced the image with his hand,
“This heartbeat look completely fine.
I simply do not understand.”

The nurse stared back at him baffled,
And the doctor just cracked a smile.
“I heard of this in medical school,
But it has really been a while.”

“You have?” asked the curious nurse.
“Does the condition have a name?”
“True Love,” the wistful doctor laughed.
“You heartbeat never feels the same.”

The nurse removed the patient’s wires,
Who pointed to the screen above.
The doc said, “Your heart’s different—”
He smiled, “Because I’m so in love.”

Impatient I found a love worth the wait,
Knowing lost love does not mean love is lost,
Heartbreak was just a detour to my fate,
Where all of love’s mistakes were worth the cost.

I waited to find love in full despair,
That hopelessness contrasts with love so sweet,
I missed the point when I thought life unfair,
I had to be prepared for us to meet.

Your love is what I dreamt that love would be,
Looking back my deep sadness seems so small,
Perhaps you too were waiting just for me,
Finally we found true love after all.

Patience had worn thin from each rejection,
Then you came along with love’s perfection.

How many times can one hope to be saved,
After all the descents to the depraved?
How many times succumbed to sinful thought?
How often losing the battles he fought?

How often can he expect salvation,
When choice after choice is to damnation?
How many times can he ignore his guilt,
Atop the foundation of lies he built?

How many chances to apologize?
How much wrong can one man trivialize?
How many times can he find excuses,
For turning others to his own uses?

If he ignores needing introspection,
How can this man still expect redemption?
If one just loved him he knows that he would—
Being loved is all he needs to be good.

As my heart grew more enamored,
And as I felt this burning flame,
It was then I knew what mattered—
It was to give Beauty its name.

Her image would not go away,
But all the words I spoke would err,
So overcome I could not say
A description that suited her.

What should perfect Beauty be called?
There is no name that could suffice.
Overwhelmed I was too enthralled—
My language was too imprecise.

You simply are so beautiful,
That any name would be inapt.
Your Beauty makes my heart so full—
That I am speechlessly enrapt.

The sunrise was a shadow’s shine,
The birds sung their songs out of tune,
The rooster crowed silent alarm,
As if each day began at noon.

The dew was dried before it formed,
The moonlight never left the sky,
The pre-dawn dreams never took hold,
The darkness never said goodbye.

The bedroom shades were never raised,
The morning haze was ever still,
The alarm clock did its mime act,
The morning’s sunlight brought a chill.

It seems the Earth forgot to turn,
There was no morning to wake to,
Looking back this is how it was,
Before I woke up next to you.

I breathe memories of every feeling,
A heart pumping emotions through my veins,
Inhaling air of heartache for healing,
To feel nothing but feelings eases pains.

Nourishing my hunger with my loves lost,
Sustaining myself on passionate thought,
Feeding on my feelings at any cost,
Sated by feelings the memories brought.

Loves old and love new are my source of life,
The deep passions I’ve had fill up my lungs,
With strengthening heartbeats beating on strife,
While the sweetness of loving is the tongue’s.

No need to eat or breathe yet still survive,
To be in love is all I need to thrive.

I’ve written words needed but unwanted,
As one who fights a war of last resort,
Disrespecting heartbreaks that I flaunted
While shaping memories I could distort.

Those unwanted poems that I needed,
All written in defiance of my nerve,
Every one of them should be deleted—
I still don’t know what purpose that they serve.

I cursed my hand so it would write no more,
But the words fought battles of attrition,
Oozing out as if from an open sore,
To heal the despair of my condition.

I’ve no desire to ever return to
The places my words so often bring me.
But it seems writing them I learn to
Appreciate the gift of being me.

Shall I say “I love you” again?
Endless fawning adoration,
I fear there will be a day when
You tire of my adulation.

But those words are bound up in me,
And I can’t hold “I love you” in,
They cry out with sincerity,
Though to your ears they might wear thin.

“I love you” is significant,
It shows you how I want to live,
Born of feeling magnificent,
But sometimes all I have to give.

Forgive for each I “love you,”
Don’t dismissively demean it,
They’re only spoken if they’re true,
And each time a man should mean it.

The hands of time
Count our endless moments.
The hands we hold
Energize love through touch.
The hands that give
Take away our torments.
The hands that heal
Can remedy so much.
The hands that bless
Bring grace upon our soul.
The hands that serve
Make sure we’re not alone.
The hands that write
Use words to make us whole.
The hands that love
Are the best hands to own.