Entries for Friday 19 February 2010, emily's coffee cups & poetry.

He washed the sheets, we made the bed

The terribly amusing thing about this chronically penned poem, is that I wrote it when I was 16, and I'm still certain to this day that was the only time I have been in love... oh dear.

I accept the kisses with the blows
Heart shaped cuts can be cleaned
For love knows no way to show
How mistaken it has been
I forgive the disillusioned nights
The decisions made with haste
For love can be both wrong and right
And all that lingers is the taste
I shall excuse the momentary lapse
The future plans love overlooks
For love can make no use of maps
Cannot quote passages from books
I will disown each poetic rule
As cliché’s leave love tainted
For love takes artists all for fools
Cannot be written, drawn or painted
I’ll grip the sore hand that extends
The one shaking with remorse
For love fails to act or to pretend
When it realises its course
I resist years and hope for hours
Futures must be built on pasts
For love is no multi-story tower
It’s built from memories that last
Mistakes disrupt perfection
But sometimes love expects fight
For love must experience rejection
For it to know when it feels right
I will disregard miscalculations
The bodies counted on two hands
For love is blinded by temptation
And is deafened by my plans
I must accept the reasons why
It is the soul whose sin is greed
For love was never taught to lie
It just forgets what the heart needs
I will endure love at its worse
When another body touched those sheets
For love needs to test the water first
If it is to know how deep is deep
There must always be the battles lost
When there is a war yet to be won
For love comes at a painful cost
When your armour is outdone
I will smile when upon my shelf
When they’re coupled and gone home
For love must first learn to love itself
Love must learn to be alone
And when the war has been fought
It is love that heals the pain
For love is a lesson we’re all taught
And there will be love for us again.

: 19 Feb 2010 04:42 | Comments (0) | Close comments | Report a problem

It is 4.23am, I did not even drink tonight.

Truly you are mistaken.

I never loved you, it was just hate
drugged by a little ecstasy,
sympathy.

You cannot blame yourself
for being fooled.

So was my intoxicated mind,
my hasty lips
that uttered those damning words.

Fate is so curious, so cruel.

: 19 Feb 2010 04:24 | Tags: Poetry | Comments (1) | Close comments | Report a problem

You will not be mine.

You can keep me pinned here,
and push the morning back with your tongue
but we both know
when those morning birds
sing us to our feet
drag off our covers
you will not be my mine.

Oh just keep me pinned here,
hear me out, feel my vacant bones
and let me go
when those morning birds
sing us to our feet
drag me to my existence
that owns me over you.

desert