A Heaven is For

When you have stared so long
that colors have changed and
your broken heart has become
the foam-crest of the waves, I
shall still find some love in my
heart to bear for you.  Where
not to love is the only great sin,
there I shall repeat the words
I so often whispered in your ears.
Strange emotion will overcome
in the otherworld, I believe, even
our greatest fears of our selves.
I believe that is all a heaven is for.

Before Words

Long before I spoke
(perhaps before words)
and things did not have
consequences
like hospitals
like needing needles
and an army of pharmacists
(and people in scrubs
all the same color)
there were still demons
and the Sun still shown
at odd angles and didn’t
keep away some kinds
of darkness or sadness
or lostness or the hardness
of making yourself a stone.

Rooms of My Chest

I once painted the rooms of my chest
the colour of you, and in them I dreamed.
And, knowing dreams are real I told them
to you in the morning on your bed.

With you so intimately within me,
how could I expect you would be
so easy to remove from these deep
places and deep thoughts?

I have painted over you a thousand
times, but that did not remove you,
it only cemented your memory in.

So, perhaps rooms and walls are
the wrong thing to have.  I should
have an open field, somewhere to
be a hermit, but in the Sun.