Words are dead—
Trapped:
inside fat cells,
boarders,
armed-guards-surrounding.
Love’s silent war…
I will take her prisoner.
A sledgehammer to the heart!
Before.
A soul can see. Touch.
Her bare.
Tears.
Confiscate fuel from the remains…
a heart.
Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte
©2019 All Rights Reserved
Plain English –
In a place you don’t want to be,
and can’t escape from,
is not a poem to write,
but in this case true.
Orange-rage,
and wilting power, 🥀
fight,
in a locked-box about to explode!
Maria DellaPorte ©2018 All Rights Reserved
(Short and sweet because, Baby, it’s cold outside and that’s what it’s all about.)
What I need-
Time:
to float, at ease,
catch-up,
dare to get ahead.
Fall-apart,
remembering…
Forget again…
Rebirth—
(Hope it catches you
on an upswing.)
A bonfire for burning memories,
and for watching their essence
become black-smoke-ghosts.
See them dance like swirling twisters,
hot in your dreams!
A guitar,
keys, to play my tune:
God’s mercy
in the lyrics.
Someone or other
to understand
every expression:
It isn’t all a straight line,
but molded
perfection.
Simple, complicated, or broken,
is as it should be—
(Pain remains only when there’s doubt.)
Arms that wrap around,
thank you, thank you…
A half-moon on the horizon,
its’ missing piece in my heart.
–
If it all adds up,
or it’s only love I give,
that you’ll remember
some random moment…
Grasp
what it was…
Smile subtly aware—
Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2015 All Rights Reserved
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