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Here is a poem I wrote after a heartbeak

    Somber thoughts cloud a mind once 
           full of precious memories.  
   Harsh and vengeful words have deafen
          a hearing meant for soft whispers.
   Deceptive sights have blinded a vision 
            from enjoying true beauty.
   No response to my many pleads have left
            a voice a faint hollow echo.
     Many deep scars from past encounters 
             have marred a caring heart.
   For all these things together as one is why
            I am Alone.
   The door to my heart is bolted and locked by               my Senses.
    Please don't feel sadness or pity for me.
    But instead wallow in your joy for love.
             For I no longer do.
   Love walked out of my life and is no longer 
           welcomed here.

My newest poem

Locked for love Dear maiden, the battle awaits. I must indulge in your beauty some other day. My soul lost without you in my arms, but honor for my motherland calls. Put aside your gentle loving touch, your whisper soft breath on my neck, taste of your sweet nectar deep inside. I must go and fight for land and glory. This armor is no equal to your soft, rose petal skin. Your arms are more natural in my arms, Than this heavy bronze sword. Hush my love....Hush...Do not worry, I will be back by your side soon. To keep you safe from barbaric hands and your heart and soul mine. This Chastity belt of gold, silk, and rare emeralds, will keep you mine and safe my love. Only I have the key and around my neck next to my heart it will stay. Kiss deaply...... Five days in hell. Thoughts of my beloved lead me on. I have seen death and misery to last many lifetimes. The swaying near my heart gives me coureage, gives me strength. I imagine your sweet warm lips all over me, feeling your gentle bites. PAIN parlyzes me. feeling a warmness, a silence, blood bathes me. The culprit is this two foot dagger through my belly. Thoughts of my beloved calm my mind and run off my pains. I feel your presence as I leave this lowly plateau. Old, grungy, bload soaked fingers, reach for my golden key. The necklaces is snapped into pieces off my neck. I am sorry my love....sorry.. sorry....

         Drinking Song

In every half-filled glass a river begging to be named, rain on a leaf, a snowdrift. What we long for precedes us. What we've lost trails behind, casting a long shadow. Tonight the music's sad, one man's outrageous loneliness detonated into arpeggios of relief. The way someone once cupped someone's face in their hands, and the world that comes after. Everything can be pared down to gravity or need. If the soul soars with longing the heart plunges headfirst into what's left, believing there's a pure want to fall through. What we drink to in the end is loss, the space around it, the opposite of thirst, its shadow.

In the Faces of Flowers
     I see her in the faces of flowers, 
          her laugh lying in wait 
         in the sweet white alyssum, 
         her smiles wide in yellow 
    In red New Guinea impatiens 
      I see her tanned in summer shorts, 
       garden hose in hand, 
       watering the flower-filled pots 
        lining the patio, paths, and walks. 
    I hear her clear, strong voice in 
        Shasta daisies, 
       and the love of her sings out in the 
       yellow rose, the pink rose, the white. 
          Bright pink hydrangeas: 
        her full life, her exuberance. 
     All her garden appears and 
        there she is, moving through it, 
          through the random cosmos, 
        through the waist-high gold of her life. 
         Hollyhocks, scarlet penstemon, 
          deep blue ornamental sage 
        interlaced with the vegetables, 
         fruit trees, 
           the occasional grass, 
             were all her domain.  
          And, yes, red canna lilies, 
            rich purple iris, 
              wild blue speedwell 
           along the back lattice fence-- 
         is there a flower she did not love? 
      As I walk among flowers she knew, 
        in my body the buds of the golden cosmos 
             open, open in abandon. 

How Do I Love Thee? by Elizabeth Barrett Browning How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! --and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

GENERATION MAGAZINE Great poetry from Cuban Americans

If you have some poetry, I would like to put it here and give you credit. Thank You