Love Climbing

Once, I knew of a heart that could no longer be contained

and thus climbed out of its skin to sit on the shouldered peak of love

Fragile, the heart had always been, so it took great care not to fall and break

Delighted with this new spot, it basked in the warmth of a blinding light

which burned a bit, but usually was tolerable

As time went on, cracks began to develop where it had been burned repeatedly

causing the heart’s surface to harden

Though this was an undesirable state, the heart withstood the pain

in order to stay on top of love

Sometimes the heart questioned whether it was worth the pain of all these scars

but resolved with itself that it most assuredly was

While pondering these thoughts, the light of love suddenly went away

In the darkness the heart tripped, stumbled, and began a fall that seemed endless

When finally it hit bottom, the heart was broken and could not move

It remained stuck in that place and alone, for a very long time

Finally, after a long healing process, the heart slowly picked up its broken pieces

glueing them together one by one, until it felt whole again

With this reinforcement, and renewed strength, it began

the long, trepidatious climb to the top of love once again

But this time, the ever-cautious heart wore a harness

and insisted that love throw out a safety net

for Thursday Poets Rally

Tears Of The Ocean

My gut is filled with something vile and foreign

my heart, slowly dying in despair

a large part of my body has been damaged

suffocating the very life that moves within me

I am forever changed, tainted, weighed down

choking and strangling, while among THEMSELVES

THEY speak of the toll this has taken on THEIR lives

THEIR livelihoods; or, THEY argue about the next

bandaid to cover the gaping hole, but there’s none

large enough to hide the huge terminal wound

inflicted on me; though THEY do not breathe me

in order to survive, nor do THEY dependably clean my floors each day

nor fly without wings through me, nor frolic and play

in my depths, nor  flow peacefully with my changing tides

THEY merely take from me and use me for their pleasure and gain

I think to myself that THEY must not , cannot know me or care for me

for if THEY did, THEY would never have stabbed me the first time

But this, THEY did to me, and again, and many more times long past the first

with no regard for the poisons that might flow from those holes into my body

So, I no longer believe that I was ever revered with awe, as THEY stood before

my once vast beauty, or treasured me as one of nature’s remarkable gifts

for THEY have allowed this crude liquid demon to steal my soul

and now have left me for dead

for One Shot Wednesday

I am a life-long resident of the Gulf Coast Panhandle.

This poem was written with love for the Gulf of Mexico and it’s precious marine inhabitants, in sad response to the Gulf oil spill.