#wounded-heart — Public Fediverse posts

Upon the Absent Beloved

I bless the hour, though it wounded me,
when first my eyes were taught to look and grieve,
and every joy I thought my heart could weave
was turned to golden thread of misery.

For Beauty came, and with her majesty
made captive all I had believed was free;
yet in that chain my soul learned how to see
the heaven hidden in captivity.

O gentle light, too distant to be mine,
you burn within me like a sacred flame;
I flee from you, yet follow all the same.

Thus love makes bitter water into wine:
I die of longing, yet I live by this—
the wound itself has taught my heart its bliss.

Author’s Note: My attempts at a poem in the style of Petrarch

Sound of Love

we are nothing more than shells
with screams inside
crying and longing to be filled
yet cringing like a frightened animal
against the wall
afraid to be hurt

there is only one person who can
change us

someone who can reach inside and
turn the volume off
replacing it with the sweet soft
sound of love

May 11, 1987 (age 19)

Sound of Love

we are nothing more than shells
with screams inside
crying and longing to be filled
yet cringing like a frightened animal
against the wall
afraid to be hurt

there is only one person who can
change us

someone who can reach inside and
turn the volume off
replacing it with the sweet soft
sound of love

May 11, 1987 (age 19)

Sound of Love

we are nothing more than shells
with screams inside
crying and longing to be filled
yet cringing like a frightened animal
against the wall
afraid to be hurt

there is only one person who can
change us

someone who can reach inside and
turn the volume off
replacing it with the sweet soft
sound of love

May 11, 1987 (age 19)

Sound of Love

we are nothing more than shells
with screams inside
crying and longing to be filled
yet cringing like a frightened animal
against the wall
afraid to be hurt

there is only one person who can
change us

someone who can reach inside and
turn the volume off
replacing it with the sweet soft
sound of love

May 11, 1987 (age 19)

IT

IT holds my heart 
in its hands
and gnaws it,
a bite a day,
until soon 
I shall 
waste away.

My blood must 
be replenished
intravenously,
tubing from above,
acid to burn 
the IT away.

May 5, 1987 (age 19)

IT

IT holds my heart 
in its hands
and gnaws it,
a bite a day,
until soon 
I shall 
waste away.

My blood must 
be replenished
intravenously,
tubing from above,
acid to burn 
the IT away.

May 5, 1987 (age 19)

IT

IT holds my heart 
in its hands
and gnaws it,
a bite a day,
until soon 
I shall 
waste away.

My blood must 
be replenished
intravenously,
tubing from above,
acid to burn 
the IT away.

May 5, 1987 (age 19)

IT

IT holds my heart 
in its hands
and gnaws it,
a bite a day,
until soon 
I shall 
waste away.

My blood must 
be replenished
intravenously,
tubing from above,
acid to burn 
the IT away.

May 5, 1987 (age 19)