#aorta - Hello Poetry

A poem is not Your crass, Because Earnestly, A poem is not a medium to abuse, Or a collection of cuss words. Roses should pour from its phrases, The poem must always be beautiful, Aye, even if angry or hateful.

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Mar 21, 2021

Mar 21, 2021 at 10:09 AM UTC

Atul

AYE, AORTA

A poem is not Your crass, Because Earnestly, A poem is not a medium to abuse, Or a collection of cuss words. Roses should pour from its phrases, The poem must always be beautiful, Aye, even if angry or hateful.

8

Some say the heart’s an ***** that plays a catchy song, It’s very simple. Just two beats and we must sing along. Some say the heart’s a teacher of lessons we should know, With every beat it doth repeat. But alas I’m a bit too slow. Perhaps the heart’s a lover that seems what they say most, And so we chase each other round, till we give up the ghost. Use your head and not your heart I think I heard that too, You’ll be safe and wiser then, but is that really true? Do not wear it on your sleeve was my dear mom’s refrain, Or you are destined to commit your sins once more again. But I say let love pierce you once or as often as it takes, For there is not a sweeter pain than when our hearts do break. And we are opened for all to see beneath our sorry soul, What dares to make us human and seeks to makes us whole. In that moment my dear heart alive in death we are, And happily may fade away, glad to have come this far. Robert C. Leung © Copyright 2017

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Jan 28, 2020

Jan 28, 2020 at 3:49 PM UTC

aztropoet

Aortagram

Some say the heart’s an ***** that plays a catchy song, It’s very simple. Just two beats and we must sing along. Some say the heart’s a teacher of lessons we should know, With every beat it doth repeat. But alas I’m a bit too slow. Perhaps the heart’s a lover that seems what they say most, And so we chase each other round, till we give up the ghost. Use your head and not your heart I think I heard that too, You’ll be safe and wiser then, but is that really true? Do not wear it on your sleeve was my dear mom’s refrain, Or you are destined to commit your sins once more again. But I say let love pierce you once or as often as it takes, For there is not a sweeter pain than when our hearts do break. And we are opened for all to see beneath our sorry soul, What dares to make us human and seeks to makes us whole. In that moment my dear heart alive in death we are, And happily may fade away, glad to have come this far. Robert C. Leung © Copyright 2017

33

You ask me if I’ve tasted defeat no I’ve swallowed it whole and the digestion resulted in apprehension to any path I can’t crawl my way through It’s ironic the brain travels three thousand miles per minute even as the body sits as still as Ice Age mountains so my solution is to taste victory on golden platters in a dream sequence the pattern is seamless I’ve learned about suffering but would never teach it A man like me could never lead, despite the absence of light that follows but enough about aorta chambers left hollow, tell me of your timeline what have you tasted what has life left in your wallet in your bed side in your lungs in your goodbyes in your smiles tell me what you know of reality and the singularity, our humble beginnings tell me anything to distract me from the hours, the minutes, the seconds and every inch of my taste buds. Please.

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Oct 18, 2019

Oct 18, 2019 at 8:03 PM UTC

rjrpoetry

Taste Buds

You ask me if I’ve tasted defeat no I’ve swallowed it whole and the digestion resulted in apprehension to any path I can’t crawl my way through It’s ironic the brain travels three thousand miles per minute even as the body sits as still as Ice Age mountains so my solution is to taste victory on golden platters in a dream sequence the pattern is seamless I’ve learned about suffering but would never teach it A man like me could never lead, despite the absence of light that follows but enough about aorta chambers left hollow, tell me of your timeline what have you tasted what has life left in your wallet in your bed side in your lungs in your goodbyes in your smiles tell me what you know of reality and the singularity, our humble beginnings tell me anything to distract me from the hours, the minutes, the seconds and every inch of my taste buds. Please.

20

I tell them about the way you laugh when you're being tickled–with you chin tucked in and to the left. They have no idea that my tricuspid stalled out the second your fingers danced up my right leg by the water. You renamed my aorta home when you whispered your secrets into my ear and the damnedest thing happened: you spoke as if you weren't a miracle in disguise.

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Apr 26, 2016

Apr 26, 2016 at 9:49 AM UTC

mollie-grant

blessings

I tell them about the way you laugh when you're being tickled–with you chin tucked in and to the left. They have no idea that my tricuspid stalled out the second your fingers danced up my right leg by the water. You renamed my aorta home when you whispered your secrets into my ear and the damnedest thing happened: you spoke as if you weren't a miracle in disguise.

11