The staircase that leads to her heart has no hand rails. No grab bars. You must measure your steps carefully, finding the right balance between what you want from her and what she really needs from you.
. every time
I Me act
Our love is easily taken advantage of
We don't ever get back the love
That we give away so easily
Without any given thought
It's in our nature
To put others
Is it time to put ourselves first?
Of this world so darkened by evils, evils that taint and tarnesh all the good in it's path..
Love bares a soul that only our creator can claim, hands that heal the wounded and a heart that breaks by day.
Hidden souls that crawl from the cracks left behind to wait for the coiled serpant like powerless pray.
They walk amongst us in a field left open , to be struck by the venome as they lay hopeless and face their death ,.
The Wounded Healer kneels beside them with hands to lay, ******* the poison, giving them purity to rinse their veins.
The Wounded Healer now weakened by the goodness of thyne heart but expects nothing in return
Now her age upon her, taken over the beast of I'll, not one soul of the once wounded stands before her to show they love her, as she asks of nothing more before she goes.
Is this what I see and feel before me to be A Wounded Healer yet die with painful sadness as I lay here all alone .
Tis true to never expect the good you rein upon God's children to rein on you in return. Keeping your heart good and love without regret for This is the Only honest love that of a wounded Healer is certain they will get
Healing of anything is self serving in itself
I'm like a piñata
You have to hit me
In the right spot,
With enough force
To be rewarded
With my sweet
There is a string of things hung with ideas as clothes pins
They take off the ideas and the string can't hold the thing
Memories are strands that if you pull it will never stop unwinding
The common person sees something in the little he won in life
The rest are rather useful than pleasant
Nobody received flowers or fame
If you could see now I'm dying to drown in flames
The love I've been placed through has to be the stuff of myth
It seems to hold back until the graze
The way it holds by taking
The way you hold by cradling
There's so much in me that you already know
I have a bit of wrinkles and the acne scars too
The whole of society sees me as living the dream
But the parts of me that people think are hidden are on the internet
See what the world knows
I should be aware of all the rules I've broken to be here
Then no purposeful ignorance can be said of me
There has to be someone who can point out the crumb on my lower lip
Rather than speak without the relevance of politeness
There's something about the way you hold me
That says you're trying me on
There is no transaction taking place
Treasure is most found on the map of my slow heartbeat
The calm before the storm siphons its way into my blood cells
Making me believe in the little I know as well
You have to be well read to read someone else's biography
You have no language if you only understand yourself
Take a bit off
A collection of ‘Love is…’ Poetry
Love is message.
Love is word.
Love is unselfish.
My heart belongs to her.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.