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BLEEDING SYMPHONIES
Blood drops flow
From my wounded heart
And become tears
Tear drops drench
My sleepless eyes
And become words
Words link like beads
From pen to page
And become poems
It is not easy
To weep blood
It is not easy
To commit poetry
When the soul weeps
The heart and mind leak
These tears on pages
Enjoy O world
My blood and tears
Enjoy O poets
My bleeding symphonies.
is not love a poultice for many a bleeding wound
does not a pure heart received
have the healing properties of a warm
welcome sort of afternoon
can not trust and contentment write their own
lines of poetry
that do not damage the vessel that their energies
absorb to pass through
could not the world enjoy the pain of beauty
just as much as the beauty of pain's succession
your pen serves its master well
boldly, steadily and with keen precision
you are as such, a tremendous troubadour
I am here to tell
a man of quite frankly such arresting observation
but I dare suspect
a poet/ man recharged you'd be
if by a superior feeling and or
unforgettable event your heart
was captured, captivated ,encapsulated even
absconded off with
by the freshest sweetest profound love
available to thee
'A Heart's Enchanted Opera'
ere there of
that is the poem of yours one day soon
I will dearly love to read................
you know who!......so why type it?
So beautifully written...So true indeed...
I enjoyed this read very much...Matter of
fact I read it several times...Great poem.
a lot of emotion shown...