As A Broken Whole
For my love was never as fake.
True becomes false love, to taste, is and was.
Because maybe, our senses
are broken; made whole.
Sorrow so...if ever so.
The moon the female, male,
still love, and as a broken half
together makes a whole,
better off alone?
Slowly could I define-
hidden rooms of my sacred
room, that of planets
that come back to life.
My haven bask-
wombs of shapes
of fleshy forms,
that could have been
born, but is it selfish
they take on my looks,
apperance, of our brokenness.
Crushing my dreams.
Elapsing my sweet.
I wake from the tendrils
of a cosmos so dear,
and gentle with repairing me?
So what did this?
I don't know anymore....
a gallery of screen doors
half of me; no, it was not even.
As love, as it is choose as letting
go or staying. Has no root in...
the Sun that shines down upon.
As being complete in incompleteness.
©2000 - 2022, Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.
Visit My Home Page | Start Your Own Poetry Site | PoetryPoem
[ Control Panel ] [ Today's Poetry - ALL Poets ] [ Search ]
|
|