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Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
whores
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.

Bobbie Longo Aug 2011

The pieces of me
Were falling through the cracks
The pieces of me
Shattered from the past

These pieces I've
Been missing so long
You've put them back
Where they belong

In your shirt pocket
Grazing your chest
Where those pieces are safe
And can be loved best

You've found those shards
Where someones thrown them away
You're now who will
Keep them safe

Be careful because
My thinly severed parts
Hardly resemble
What once was a heart

They may embed
Themselves within
And splinter you with
Broken passion

I may not give you all of me
But I can share my pieces
A bite of me is all you need
The bite that never ceases

Gray Jan 2015

My heart
Is a happy drunk
A little too open
A little too optimistic
It's over in the corner of the bar
Playing poker
Screaming at the top of it's lungs
I'M ALL IN
When it's never
To this day
Had a winning hand

My heart
Is a sad drunk
A little too lonely
A little too caught up in tears
It's over at the counter
Forcing the bartender to take its keys
Because it would rather not go home
Than go home alone again

My heart
Is a reckless drunk
A little too unbalanced
A little too impaired
It's over by the door
Making everyone nervous
A little too good at scaring people away
A little too far gone

Like you
A little too far gone
Turn your head
Shuffle away and pretend you don't notice
The breakdown of a heart
Too drunk on feelings
To know when to stop

ZinaLisha Nov 2014

my love is like the hardest level
of candy crush.

you will never reach it
but for some,
it's worth the rush.

too much to handle,
too high to touch.

ryn Jan 2015

.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...

.
Dedicated to all of you...

If you're reading this...
This is for you...
.
Mark Lecuona Mar 2015

I want to be loyal to you
But not to the color of your skin
Or where your ancestors have been
I only want to know if your heart is true

And if it is kind to another
I will know you to be my friend
And my heart will finally let you in
Because you will no longer be a stranger

Andrew Switzer Jun 2015

I'm too drunk to think,
Still sober enough to feel.
No heart left to steal.

Chris Apr 2015

~

She polished the lens with a smudge of her finger
Still tiny traces of memories linger
Held to the light so the streaks they were showing
Wiped it again all the while just knowing

Darkness collected the corners she wept
Placed in the box with the love letters kept
Tied with a ribbon and sealed with a kiss
Stuck in a closet no longer to miss

Something was blurred in the sight she was seeing
Another time and a place often fleeing
Wanting the one with the smile unending
Lost in this room on the whispers now sending

She did not breathe, no not one breath of air
Sitting alone in the dark she did stare
Wishing on dreams out of focus and light
Wondering if it was day or was night

Opened a curtain, the sun was deceiving
Blinding the truth that her soul was believing
Calling reflections of love’s shining fashion
Thought back to days filled with feelings and passion

Took out a hanky and with just the right touch
Cleaned off the smears she had hated so much
Looked to the sky, she could see every part
For she was the girl with the looking glass heart

Shari Forman Mar 2013

A heart that is pure,
Will be forever more.
A symbol of cleanliness and love,
Lies the color white, from above.
Friendship and trust,
With never a fuss.
Glory and unity,
For numerous opportunities.
Happiness excells,
With riviting stories to tell.
A heart so bright,
Deeply reflects the color white.

Amitav Radiance Jul 2014

There are no limits of the heart
Love resides in it, without boundaries
Heart beats, and its resonance
Creates a symphony with classical tunes
A composition of the beating heart
Residing in every soul with Love

i never knew a love like this
to hold you skin to skin
heart to heart

i can feel your breath
against my chest
and feel your warmth

i feel my heart expanding
to love so fully and completely
without expectations

i am so grateful for meeting you
heart to heart

I wrote this while holding my sleeping my daughter against my chest, but also a poem to describe my experience of divine love through loving others.
Montana Svoboda Jan 2016

Maybe in the future it’ll make sense
When I said I view myself as a lion
And you are the person I imagine inside of my head
When I write poetry about missing strangers I haven’t yet met,
Inserting subtle references into our conversations
Hoping you’d pick up on petty, passive attempts
At wanting more than what a bashful smile can convey

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