Tag Archives: poetry

The red beard

I sit and think about your red beard,
I think about the light reflecting on your red beard,
I think about what words I could write that would match your red beard,
All this I think and I come up with nothing.
Nothing at all.

Then I think of you,
And I think of me,
And I think about your laughter in bed,
All these are my thoughts but still . . .
Nothing about your red beard. Nothing at all.

Then I think about your lopsided smile,
And I think about you pouring me coffee in a Japanese cup,
And I think about eating carrots and celery from your plate,
And all these thoughts about food and drink but not about beard,
Nothing at all.

Nothing about your lovely, scratchy (yeah, sorry I didn’t tell you before) and oddly red beard.

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My love letter

I love you as you are,

I accept you as you are.

I sit in quiet darkness, waiting for truth from your lips and warmth from your touch. But they will not come and I have to make my peace with it.

I pray to no god as I think of you and hope against all hope that you come to me without reservations and fear. But you will not come and I have to make my peace with it.

This is how I love you. Knowing you will not come but hoping that you will, knowing in my heart the truth of it all.

This is how I love you. As you are, even when you are short with me and anger comes to you. As you are, even when you’re afraid and coldness emanates from you.

I love you. Because you are funny, or rather you think you are. Because you are sweet and kind. Because you are intelligent and work hard. Because you are a good man.

Because you speak Spanish to me and because you text me in German.

Because you get mad at me and you cook me spaghetti.

Because you build a wall and don’t let me in.

Because you kiss me softly and you flirt.

Because you love your cat and most of all . . .

I love you because you’re imperfect as I am, and . . .

I love and I couldn’t say why.

Fantasies

Dream of my dreams, if only you could come true,

But what battlefield would life be if that was true?

If happiness was real, if at peace were my heart?

No manner of life would that be, unknown to me,

Always searching, never finding,

Contentment is what I find,

And never the happiness I seek.

The journey would have no purpose if happines was within my grasp,

What else is there to live for than the journey?

To be free of me

What emptiness the end of love brings,

After the pain, although it was much less than expected,

The hours upon hours of leisure thinking when all the love is done,

There is no thinking of him, there is no missing him, there is no him,

Try as I may to think of him I cannot,

I cannot any more than to think I am not thinking of him,

Nothing more.

Nothing more to do, nothing more to miss, nothing more to suffer,

I am not with him, nor waiting to be with him, nor have I just been with him,

There is no more him,

Now whole days are open to me, what to do with my time?

I have no need to wait for his text, there will be none,

I am liberated from the wait and it is surpringsly pleasant,

I do love him and I am free of him,

A prison I created with my love for him,

I created it and closed myself in it,

A prision? Yes, but I was willing,

Willing, not now. 

I don’t feel the loss, maybe layer,

Later I will cry or throw myself of a cliff,

Although there are no cliffs here,

What to do until then?

Until the emptiness kills me,

While I live my life in the pleasant emptiness of his absence?

To love him and  . . . Be in happiness without him,

Seems a betrayal,

To him most of all,

To love him and not to miss him,

To love him and not want him,

To love him and be free of him,

To love him and let him be free of me.

In love

I love him, I love him so,

I feel his pain as mine, he does not feel mine so,

To wait in vain for him to come,

To conquer his fear, but he does not,

He walks alone, but then I see,

He loves me so? But no, not ever, no . . . 

I endure the pain, my broken soul,

I walk away with my broken pieces nothing more,

To him I went, but no more,

To him, for him my heart yearns so much,

He knows not how deep in my soul he is?

He wonders why I don’t come back to him?

No, he knows not,

No, he wonders not,

No, his fear is his, 

No, my love is mine.