Welcome to My Poetry Site

231,013 poems read

 

Cotton, pillow, and heart
 

Imagine for a moment that, regardless of age,

You are brimful of love, but there is nowhere to

Expend it. You are overflowing with passion like a

Bursting purse, chock-a-block with revenue, yet the

Clasp is tightly sealed against entry, and cannot

Be prised open not even by the mighty purchase

Of Heaven's fulcrum.

 

Unspendable love, unspendable money. Imagine

Again, the silence that comes with such a sorry

State of affairs. What yesterday was dependable

And forever is today nothing of the sort. Loss of

One kind or another leading inexorably to five

Star loneliness and all that spiritual bankruptcy

Implies. Such an hour, such a day, such a night,

Steeped in the haunting memories of a love that

Once was, and will forever linger in the tender

Threads of cotton, pillow, and heart.

 

When a heart becomes vacant squatter ghosts

Quickly assemble ,gleefully adding weight to a

Pain that is already unbearable. Memories come

Flooding in as thoughts drift ever backwards in

Search of better times, in a better place, with a

Better love. A love now so unattainable as to be

Nought but an illusion in the cortex of a sensible

Mind. But this mind is not sensible, or at least not

Willing to be so. For there is peace and safety in

The cocoon of 'what might have been' where

Phantoms of the mind weave and embellish,

Buff up and massage images from the past in

A valiant effort to bring a modicum of relief to

An injured heart.

 

As the empty hours tick by the blood of a broken

Heart falls as tears. Tears to cool the pillow, tears

To tell the angels something is amiss. Tears often

Hidden from view, but visible still to eyes that can

See. Was it a cheat, a jilt or just a change of heart?

Whatever it was, it stung like mad, hurt like billy-o

And left the injured heart in disarray.

 

But as we all know, time heals and in time this

Heart grew in strength and stature, and one

Night, moonlight peeped through a pretty window

To fall upon crisp cotton sheets, a pillow on

Which lay a single rose and a heart making up

For lost time.
 

© Joseph G Dawson