Not much to say about this poem except it's the result of a string of days changing one word and then another. Not one line rhymed when I started, but I have begun to face a reckless truth: I'm a rhyme addict. I love to rhyme. Most of the time. Symbols and chimes. Oh, don't get me started.
.
When I was pretty young, I would listen over and over to Roy Orbison's "Love Hurts" and cry every time. This poem is perhaps is my version of the same.
Hope's buried
Hope's buried
in the sound
absent space
gone underground
Wild wanton
reckless time
hanging laundry
on the line
Dripping intentions
faulty signs
hurricane hearts
chiseled too fine
prayer and effort
held too tight
No harm done
not tonight
no blame
no right or wrong
no shared secrets
.
Love's too hard
Devotion too brief
No comments:
Post a Comment