The Poet in Love

Passion
a hot wind blowing
And no point on the compass of me
is safe haven
from the pain of loving you
Safe quarter is not given
there is no safe harbor
No safe place

Fire runs the riverbeds under my skin
The hellfire of Love
coursing my every branch
My every nerve shimmers
Tiny fire-salmon fountain
leaping into the cold winter sky
when the fire pit is stirred
Fire in the darkness of the depths
emotional magma becomes the lava of loving you

Pain is not always born of a knife
nor of injuries that can be seen
Blind
pain in its purest form
Runs through my every thought
Twisting and distorting my every memory

I remember when I told you of my love
you said to me
You said you do not love me
And I am thinking of the way you said
that at least I was telling the Truth
I am torn by the hope
What are the odds
that you might love me?

Goodbye my love
Goodbye

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

2 thoughts on “The Poet in Love”

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