PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

All I hear

Is the ocean crashing against the bluffs.

And I feel

The roll of water pulling me into the undertow.

My eyes sting

With salt and blurs my vision.

And yet I taste

The emptiness of my soul.



No matter how I try to die,

My mother always said I wasn't that lucky,

Because "Shit floats".



I want so badly to let the water fill my lungs,

But my survival instinct kicks in,

And all I have done

Is caused damage to my body.



All too soon I find am beached,

Time and time again,

In my life of lost loves.



With some,

My head has gashed open upon the coral underneath the blue.

With others,

I was treated like a dead body being tossed overboard.

And yet,

I still look for that ship to blast it's horn,

To feel the jump start of my heart by it's vibrating sound.



I am older now,

And the sea is no longer my friend.

And I grow more dis-illusioned about Love.



It is the sea shanty dirge

On those cold icey nights.

When the beacon of the lighthouse can't illuminate

The darkness of my foul sleepless nights.



Every thought feels overwhelming in me,

And my heart has gone without a pulse for so long,

That I wonder if I could ever recognize or enjoy Love again.



Not the puppy love,

Nor the fantasy love,

Or a Knights tale,

Or the defiant against all odds love.



But the quiet love,

That lays upon you

Like the glow of a sunset upon the oceans horizon.



It is the languorous kind of love

That wraps you up in security like a fuzzy blanket.

That feeds you daily

With more than tack biscuits and coffee.



It is the kind of love

Where you just "KNOW" the other person loves you

Even when they sit in silence.



I no longer want love as radiant as the stars,

Because stars fall and burn out.

I no longer want love that is as immense as the blue ocean,

Because of it's shear size,

You cannot see it grow.

And love's survival in it may be a thin chance

With all of mans toxin's permeating it's depths.



I want a Love that touches my heart

Like a fog.

Where I don't feel the rush of pain,

To ask if it's real,

If I can endure it's zero'ing in on my hurts

Trying to heal my wounds

With salve, poultice, ointments and possible amputations.



I want Love that drops on my tongue

Like the cool misty dew on wild flowers

Where I can savor each and every moment.



And I want to know Love,

Like looking at the smile of a child.



I want that peaceful, slow

Easing into love,

And not the nose dive into a concrete pool

Where there is no water

And all you feel when it is over,

Is the crush of a bottom.



I want bliss,

Not rapture.

I want purity that steeps more powerful through time,

Instead of thickening like tar in a coffee pot

Full of resentments, greed, lust, and pride.



I want love that is practical,

Like new table linens that are seen every day

As callers sip tea in my home.

I don't want the "every now and then" roses

That die within a week,

And are hardly remembered a year later.



I want a Love that sings like a songbird,

And not one where compliments are only heard in other peoples

presence, of an undying vow

That always comes with a period at the end of a statement.



Some call it a mature love,

That may stand to reason.

I've endured the fires and floods

The roller coasters and merry go rounds

Of Love's notorious Coney Island.



I don't want to have to scramble for cover

From typhoons and tornadoes,

But I want to be center stage

Of all the subtle creation and changes happening

To me,

Around me,

Through me,

And in me....



When the Creator blesses me with THE ONE.