Pressing thoughts deliberate their untoward will,
Crashing relentlessly from wall to windowsill,
Rays restrained from filling dark fissures of thought,
Expanses of desert drinking up all I have got.
Level the field that engulfs the sea of squandered souls!
‘Don’t do that!’ they brazenly chide and they scold,
Leaving the empty unconnected—like stars with no signs,
Expecting us to forget the agéd power of the divine.
Warmth is a feeling often served to the bitterly numbed,
As our limbs pine and our dreams needle to overcome,
My fearless hero! Brave the storm of abject ignominy,
Mending the broken walls of shame by nurturing dignity.
Remember dear heart….
Love is a phantasm that swims into the depths of the bay,
Just as it soars infinitely, farther, up, and away,
It refuses to be held in the palm of one single hand,
For there it has little room to stretch, grow, and expand.
Like the pressing forces that mark the point of no return,
Hand in hand, the meaning of love is less easy to discern,
Fingers interlaced, woven together so they may never fray,
Palms pressing into one another, as fruitful souls sing and sway.
Cherish the crosses and noughts that expose your fears,
For it’s easier to live a life without love that’s austere,
Miserly counting the affectionate dissonances,
Instead of writing one of the world’s great romances,
Whisper your secrets from the depths of your murmuring heart,
Erratic, muted tones that, together, morph like abstracted art,
Let it be seen by someone, without further ado,
All you can do, angel-mine, is bring love to your spiritual debut.