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We both agree that we want to keep it pure
as it used to be -- not a makeover or nostalgic
stroll, but unencumbered from what has been.
Uninhibited --
seeing our true faces anew.

When we seem to hurt each other we agree
that we only want to lift the heaviness that
weighs us down –
carefully shaping words to cut the strings

that drag the weight through the generations
so we can learn from past mistakes and not let
mutations mutate our love.
                                                           ­ 
Peace be still my love.
My peace is not here
as yet, but you have it within your reach.
Drop the weight
and grasp the lightness!

Maybe mine will come sooner if you stop
mourning my darkness and follow your own
light that has always been there--
sometimes hidden
behind the horizon--
but it has always been there.

Let it glow as it used to --
not human-formed
or reflected beams but uninhibited from what
has been. Not obscured, but seeing us anew.
          
Please see that I can see that you
have the power to be set free.
Then maybe my peace will arise within me sooner.
Then maybe my spirit and mind will heal sooner.
©2024 Daniel Irwin Tucker
Notes:
This is a love poem that I wrote for
my wife. Poems on marital
relationships can be a sensitive matter. This is why I am adding these
notes. Firstly, this work does not
speak of physical or emotional violence. The 2nd stanza uses the word "hurt". In the context of this poem, it means working out problems in our relationship with complete honesty "carefully shaping words to cut the strings that drag the weight..." Again, 'hurt' in the context of this poem, is talking openly, honestly and frankly about what makes us tick; but we never hit below the belt (that is when it hurts!) We respect each other and are best friends. We've used this technique exclusively since we got
married in our teens decades ago. We just say it like it is to each other. But it is never dealt in a mean spirit.
Blade Maiden Sep 2018
Today
I hang
I hang myself
I hang myself onto
I hang myself onto the branches
of this old tree
just to go, to flee
of too much probability

Tonight
I shoot
I shoot myself
I shoot myself a picture
I shoot myself a picture of me
in front of my favorite old tree
so I can remember thee
so there can be another me
so in this picture I can also be

Yesterday
I killed
I killed myself
I killed myself in a picture
I killed myself in a picture that shows
another me
in memory
but if she's dead
who's sitting on this chair
a me in disguise
I think I killed myself twice
or how many times?
Always changing, always renewing oneself. How many of me have died?
Ashley Moor Apr 2017
It was the likeness of her
replaced
with maps
forests
shine
cold sheets in summer
vanilla ice cream
sunlight on wooden floors
flight of fairies
childhood unearthed
a generous heart and lungs
a magic of my own.
When I finally dreamt
without her
it was
renewing.
Worn out from all these revelations.

— The End —