Amid the blossoms wild,
your head toward the sky.
You charm me with words, but your love isn't mine.
The sea confronts me, waves unfurling.
You cannot grow fond.
You take the sea to the shore.
Your waves are many, a count of infinity. I cannot love you anymore.
My love has no count, no sum, but it is still incomplete. Like a singing sea with spray of waves.
In the eyes of great poets, I ask you,
Are you mine?
My heart?
Mine anymore?
I've been doing time
In the heart of the valley at night.
On the assembly lines
Of a love that's far away
Are you mine anymore?
Or is the summer for?
A love that leaves you,
At winter's door
Let's toast to summer's end,
In the valley at night. When the sun comes over, and leaves us the last time.
I've been doing time
In the heart of the valley at night.
On the assembly lines
Of a love that's far away
Far away
You're still here, and I've been told
Where you are now.
In the eyes of great poets, do you still love me? Or was the summer just for
Loving and leaving?
For the last time, in the valley at night, I ask are you mine - anymore?
YOU ARE READING
SCHISMS
PoetryA collection of wounds disguised as poems SCHISM /ˈs(k)izəm/ noun plural noun: schisms a split or division between strongly opposed sections or parties, caused by differences in opinion or belief. The world torn apart. Poetry to heal the wounds. Th...
