The pulse of love beats inside of me,
Relegated to never be released or made full use of.
My inner compass always pointing to a seal unbroken
Like undisturbed pillows on a display bed - always made.
Sheets fitted - made ready for the unmaking.
Then seized by some inner fear, affecting all that I ever dared,
Usurping you my love, the you without a name.
Yet, how easy it begins in these faceless rhymes,
They ensnare my heart with their private crimes.
How safe is love, how sacred still,
Where no one reads of my inner hidden will.
What good is it that I can wink when it goes unknown,
With nothing shared or to call my own?
Yet, my love deserves no enemy nor grudge,
Just the presence of my heart as the consummate judge.
In this court I sit chained and broken
With discerning eyes scouring me until I’m deemed a token.
Unbridled, unsought, a wretched mess,
Swift to dispatch me off to less and less of my own access.
Oh, had there been a covenant I could have served the crown,
With virtuous, heady and proper nouns
Or had I been given the pass of my big heart freed
I could write unoppressed with the noblest indeed
But my tuneful harp is forever unstrung,
While heaven waits for my loving sounds, my songs are yet unsung.
Nothing is worse than a mind full of thoughts with nothing or no one to share in them or understand them. It's like being in the darkness of the deepest cave of your own making.
