deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Rose Of Hearts

�
No�doubt�that�the�earth�is�round,
it�rolls�on,�oblivious�to�my�travel.
Without�a�rocket,�I've�walked
the�no�ways�of�this�planet,
even�just�to�touch�the�moon.
To�say�it's�a�real�thing,
like�all�these�months�loving�you.
�
I�didn't�know�how�heavy
that�moon�would�be.
I�know�it�is�full�of�things
that�people�dream�about
when�they're�alone.
�
And�the�day�the�moon
finally�gets�weary,�and
I'm�there�to�pick�it�up
like�it's�a�tired�dog,
full�and�sated�all�the�same,
I'll�carry�it�back�to�the�house
and�wipe�it�down�with�a�warm�cloth,
set�it�by�the�fire
and�let�it�be�a�hundred�colors.
�
It�won't�rest�long,�on�the�blanket,
because�my�patience�has�to�be�repaid.
I�will�dump�it's�contents,
disregarding�those�loves�captured
that�weren't�involved�with�my�own.
�
Illuminated�by�the�natural�light
of�the�fireplace,
can�the�tiny�creatures
that�lived�inside�us,�called�souls
-Before�stolen,�hidden�in�the�moon,
be�seen�scattered�upon�the�blanket,
perhaps�to�scurry�away
or�into�the�finality�of�the�fire.
�
I've�no�right�to�judge
and�no�more�compassion�to�choose
for�them�the�fate�that�they�decide.
Unprepared�to�be�dumped�like�this,
maybe�some�will�scatter�back�into�the�air
to�try�again�as�dragonflies�in�a�busy�evening.
�
No,�I�will�find�what�has�become
of�you�and�I�and�love
in�this�great�opened�egg.
I�won't�mind�the�clutter�of�others
that�we've�tumbled�with�or�around,
in�the�'Before�us'.
Those�are�all�just�fragments�now.
Just�fish-bones,�tossed�out
with�the�old�news.
�
Yet�it's�so�easy�to�set�you�apart,
from�such�commotion.
The�brightest�always�are.
No�matter�how�subtle,
rose-gold�outshines�what's�brass.
It�has�no�fate�of�tarnishing.
�
~
�
And�the�moon�didn't�crush�me
when�I�carried�it�home,
once�it�fell�finally,�to�exactly
the�spot�I�could�be�upon
and�know�it�wasn't�just�luck.
I�lost�count�long�ago
of�all�the�horizons
that�the�moon�went�to�hide�behind.
It's�vampiric,�always�hungry,
to�steal�the�blood�of�love.
But�wise�enough�to�go�rest,�at�day
and�digest�such�weight.
�
It�did�feel�that�I�carried�all�love,
all�the�loves�sacrificed
for�the�sake�of�fragments�of�time,
that�people�threw�out
into�the�night�sky,
pretending�it�didn't�hurt�anymore.
�
It�doesn't�hurt�me,�though,
loving�you�with�this�thorn
centered�in�my�chest.
It's�the�old�pains�in�our�hearts,
torn�but�mending�by�the�moment.
I�accept�it,�because�it�too
is�a�part�of�us,�not�on�purpose
and�not�unwarned.
Some�things�must�break
to�grow�again,�anew.
My�arms�didn't�flinch
and�I�let�it�in�too,�to�have�you.
�
I�will�rest�there,�with�you
upon�the�beige�blanket�that�curls
in�colors�of�yellow�and�red,
until�the�orange�of�finally.
�
We�can�share�that�warm�cloth
and�push�away�the�broken�mess
of�the�moon,�with�our�feet.
Let�it�go�sulk
and�wear�that�frown
permanently.
�
~~~