The carrier

There is a maker of the knife who designs the instrument,
& the sculptor skilled at carving
But what molds the heart depends on neither,
For it is not the heartbreak that determines its shape.

But the will of its carrier.
Whose spirit to mend and strengthen
The musculature of his heart-
He gently seizes his organ to rest between his palms
Recognizing it as his own, his purpose and virtue

I bookmark my thoughts to read them again,
For reading reminds me of what I once felt.

Mind-tied

There are some stories,
No many how many times they replay so vividly in my head,
I will never find the words to capture such experiences.
As if my mind has tied itself up with my tongue.

Mail

You trust the mail man to carry letters,
but you don’t believe the words that escape my mind
I’d cardboard box every memory
& wrap them with ribbons
To tell you I miss you.

Who cut the power lines,
That we lost the electricity running through our veins?
Crowded thoughts flooding my mind
Like overflowing papers in a letterbox
& I’m spilling confessions
Wanting to see you again.

Cafeteria

I’ve got my earphones blasting Matt Nathanson, 

staring out the frozen cold-
City I’ve called home
& watching seven leaves, dried to crisp

clinging to desperation
On branches
In mid January frost

It is as if they are afraid to let go,
And a part of me feels for them
They fear drifting into the wind-
Uncertain of destiny’s choreography.

& I feel for them,
For they are like me.

Call Love.

I knew love by His name,
But what are letters rearranged
Compared to His knowledge
& depth of what beats within my veins

There is no point second-guessing fate.