Tag Archives: heart

The Secondhand Heart


A cold, scarecly beating heart
in open hands.

Dropped in gravel,
crushed by time.

Protected for moments;
destroyed for years.

A facade from many moons ago,
for which he cries no tears.

An unholy spirit
phantom; haunting every step
down corridors and passages.
Shadows catch upon stone-laden walls
closing in, separating.


In bowels of a dungeon,
trapped in slavery of the stars.
A reminder of the sparkles
that once came so naturally
to her eyes.

But now, only burden.

And well forgotten.

It shall be many years
and many stitches
and a few bandaids
and some trust
to put this heart
back together again.

And even then,
can it ever love again?

After a heartbreak, love is the last thing on anyone’s mind. I think anyone over the age of about fifteen has had at least one heartbreak in their life. Whether it was a short middle school romance, a high school crush, or true love, heartbreak hurts everyone. There is no way around it. And people try to help you by saying that time heals all wounds. Bullshit. Excuse my language please, but that’s just bullshit. The honest truth? I got my heart broken over a goofy middle school crush, and the pain didn’t go away for SIX years. SIX. If time healed all wounds, I would have sucked it up before the month was over. But no, I mooned over the same guy for six years. And the pain only got worse as the years wore on.

What heals heartbreak? Love. To get over someone truly, you must truly fall in love. At least, that’s what I think.

Again, this was a little more experimentation with non-rhyming verse.

When the Moon Shines Again


When the stars reached down in pieces left of ocean,
when the moon thought, “maybe I won’t shine this night.”

When the sun touched fires pandering the solemn,
to a graveyard lost in angel-blessing’s eyes.

When the spoken word left nothing in a memory,
and the swollen skies left tears for the unknown.

When the holy clouds opened up but shed no sorrow,
and the seeds of generations were never sewn.

Perhaps the God that you had dreamt of felt no pity,
for a beggar on his knees who prayed with scorn.

To the shadows of a world you left in tatters,
protected you from every other single storm.

And yet the stolen respiration you’d been searching,
spent no remorse when you asked yet again for more.

And the ravens that you called the end of your enchantment,
pecked and pleaded, “won’t you please open your door.”

When you refused all the light you had been given,
and told yourself that you would still be less than lost.

When you realized that nothing else could save your soul, dear,
when was it that you took in what it had cost?

And my God, I swear, He might see fit to forgive you,
for all the charity that you have paid yourself.

But I find myself less likely to release your blame,
because I only asked your smile and nothing less.

When you destroyed all the things I felt near and dear to,
and then you mentioned that it hadn’t been your fault.

I spent my nights wondering how to hurt you,
and all my days suffocating my resolve.

When the sky fell and the earth you burned before you,
was nothing more than ashes, burning to the ground.

Did you ever wonder if you might have an addiction,
to the poisons you set every time you turned around?

I might ask that maybe when I pass you on the corner,
that you avert your eyes and stare down at your feet.

But you don’t deserve the recognition that might grant you,
nor the pleasure of knowing that you destroyed me.

So when you rise to the Gates and Peter passes judgment,
and when God gives you your list of all your sin.

You might understand the gravity of your situation,
and all of the people that you hurt when you win.

And when the moon begins to shine for no other reason,
and the sun lets go of messages unknown.

And there is suddenly a beam of Heaven in the clouds again,
I’ll know, in my heart, that’s when you will be gone.

This began as basically a letter to no one in particular, but as I continued writing, I began thinking of everyone who had hurt me. It became about them and all of the pent-up anger I had never told any of them about (being somewhat of a passifist…). Then it transformed again from the people I hate to people who hate in general.

It evolved into a poem about intolerance, and the idea that no one who hates will ever do any good in this world. It became about the Holocaust and about human rights. It became about freedom and love, and spreading the love around. The message switched from hating your enemies to loving everyone just as they are. Talk about an oxymoron.

But it’s the truth. The world would be a better place if no one spread the poison of hate around. If people just allowed others to live their lives, and peace became the norm. But hey, I’m an optimist.

I guess I’m supposed to think that way.

Whispers of Him


He is a cast of grey beneath my skin,
maroon hollows beneath my eyes.
A forgotten wind to an indifferent ocean
that rocks my ship to sleep each night.

And on high moons, he is my alleviation,
potency unrivaled.
A lion mirrored in any tarn
with the innocence of a child.

Beneath watchful eyes, he wanders
boundless to a task.
To crowds of others, he bears no soul,
and no self behind his mask.

And to me, he is no other.
But only in forbidden lands.
He doesn’t see who he is to me,
and he doesn’t understand.

~To Anthony

Simple, but probably the most honest poem I’ve ever written. For whatever reason, I have been haunted with insomnia the past couple of nights. So this is me awake at 3:30 in the morning, writing down whatever pops into my head and typing it into a box on my computer. So if this isn’t exactly as coherent as I would like it to be, I apologize. Looking over it, it seems to make sense enough to me, but I’m in that dreamy sort of “tired but can’t sleep” phase, so I could be wrong.

Anyway, it’s meant to portray the picture of a young man who hasn’t quite figured out who he is just yet. To me, he is a saint, one of the most important people in my life, but he sees himself as just another ordinary guy.