Sonnet 2,411


imageNow as I go to sleep I write in rhyme:
This evening’s thoughts be thunk and written down;
For I am his and know that he be mine;
The things of which we spoke tonight be ours.
I read and write our love and feed his soul;
He feeds mine too, of that I am aware;
For he is me – and I am he, one whole;
Completed hearts be here as they be there.
I cannot write in words that do not flow;
For he has graced my life with art and song;
My beats and metered ways be his to know;
Two minds that think as one cannot be wrong.

I am the darkest tunnel – he’s the light:
Hence poetry forms everything I write.




This is how it went down:
There was love.

On her part, at least, there was love.
It wasn’t returned.

She hoped it might be, one day.
Contact was full-on…until it wasn’t.

Until she was no longer in his thoughts.

Until she awoke.

Once again, she’d been manipulated and kept around like a fail-safe, idiot-proof, back-up plan. She could imagine his intentions as he played her like the afterthought she’d always been, “she’ll just be there, waiting for me as always.”

But no.
No, she wasn’t.
She wasn’t waiting.

She had already lived her life thus far in an unrequited state and wasn’t about to continue lovelessly.

In the beginning, he had spoken of his desire that one day she would know her worth. He would make her see it. He would make her realise that she should never value herself based on that which she meant to others. It was all in HER, he said.

She is finally aware of her worth. She also knows her value to him – which is insignificantly minimal.

But she f i n a l l y knows her own worth.

And still, love is there. But this time, it’s the love she has for herself.


I have a hunch


The questioning, exclaiming marks show sentiment – reflective; but one’s a little bent to gain a new and fresh perspective.

The Hunchback looks down at his feet, asks questions of the earth; The Soldier stands all tall and proud, with confidence since birth.

But both of ’em are balancing, each standing on their ball; you kick that ball away they’d be identically corpsed.

For one is one and one the other in this little game; in falling to their origins, they’d crumple just the same.


SONNET 7,444



My wasted heart it knew not how to beat;
Instead it chose a terminating pulse;
Preparing to give up, it did retreat
From many tests with negative results.
My poorly heart it wanted to be killed;
Survival was no life with half a heart;
As slowing beats left passions unfulfilled,
So love was paused, no reason to restart.
My dying heart gave up on love at last,
Content without contentment, time to go;
Defibrillation banned, all hopes were dashed;
When love appeared and spoke so I would know:

There’s no more flatlines, no more giving in;
For next to mine, a new heart: shaped like him.


SONNET 7,291


With pages raw and plain, as yet unscribed,
I wrote my life again in book anew.
Once far away from me, true love arrived;
For swift he came, a bolt from darkest blue.
He led me to his soul with eyes so deep;
His lips became a wish upon my own
Too hard to think, impossible to sleep
An instant heart I thought I’d never know.
Beyond perfection, sweet reality
His words and heart and mind so filled with fire
In dreams I thought him up, yet now he’s here;
Surpassing every need and each desire.

I’d written myself sad, no love to be;
Then swift he came, out of the blue: to me.


SONNET 7,773



I wonder: has he ever been a muse,
With poetry and song thrown at his feet?
Has somebody created art anew
As fortune made it so that they should meet?
I wonder: how could anybody fail
To share the love and beauty of his soul?
A magnitude of universal scale;
So powerful, love cannot be controlled.
I wonder: did I tackle something right?
Apparently I did, for I am blessed;
A mission from a darker, sadder life?
For all my wants and hopes have been addressed.

I’ll speak my sentiment in poetry;
Unquestioned beauty speaks in rhyme to me.






He makes my heart do funny things
And leap with wild imaginings
Just thinking of the joy he brings
With every page’s turn.

I see his face and suddenly
Life is as it’s meant to be
It’s me for him and him for me
As pages they are turned.

I feel his smile inside my own
It’s nothing like I’ve ever known
He’s turned my life into a poem;
For rhyming pages turn.

And as he writes, I’ll do so too
Because I have a different view;
Despite the lives that we’ve been through…
Our pages have been turned.