I don't know how to love you anymore
I guess I do not know what it is for
For my hands have turned cold
Cold as the dark and silent night
Night that has dawned on my heart
Heart that was broken in pieces
Pieces that I failed to fix
Fixing is what I need
Need is a word I do not understand anymore

I am afraid to break you, love
For your love is perfect and more
Leaving me breathless to the core
That I do not know how to hold you  
And here I am standing in the rain
As you prove to me that it is not vain
To trust and let go of the pain

But I do not know how to love anymore
As I watch you leave, sad and hurt
My hands seemed glued to myself
As I can't hold you back no more
You are going away with the rain
As my tears fall on their own
Making you blur as you walk away
I guess you could not love me anymore

A collection of ‘Love is…’ Poetry
Song


Love is Monday.
Love is Tuesday.
Love is Wednesday.
Love is every day.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

Solace subsides when this
               day gains ground.

But like storms passing
        a new day ebbs closer,

                           to the weekend.

A world without you
What does it mean?
My world was always with you even before I met you.

If my world was without you,
I don’t think
I can imagine it -
Yet.

My world without you
Would be an empty void where positivity should have been,
A hole in my being where flesh should be.

My world without you
Would be a plant that never grew
It would be a raven that could not fly
It would be a laugh without sound
It would be somewhere we never knew.

A world without you
What does it mean?
My world will always be with you even after you’re gone.

I want a man whose heart is so full -
Rainwater dripping from the pitcher on the drizzled grey of yesterday,
A soft sound in the great symphony of the wet garden,
Bejeweled and glistening,
Pianoforte drops
Upon the wet leaves
Falling.

I will know him by the way he writes, the kindness in his eyes -
Flashes of him in my professor,
In myself, caught laughing like a child,
In the quiet teenager who is becoming an
Unlikely philosopher, frontal cortex in heat,
With the implications of existence
(He’s awake in the early dawn, a furious Jacob,
wrestling with his God)

And he will be a Seeker of Beauty:
“There is no medium unworthy”
He will tell me, but never in words,
Crouching for perfection’s grace among leaves and dirt
Like a widow beneath rainbow fractals
At early morning’s mass.

He will be effortless, like the unspoken love
Between two old friends, bookends
Scattering crumbs of baguettes in the park
To clicking beaks, and dancing pigeon feet.

Burying himself in pages, when he thinks no one sees
(Was that you there, on the subway?
Dark eyes, fixated on the lines,
Crinkling with understanding?)

Both of us adventurous spirits -
“Let’s run away, you and me” and we will
Melt with ease into cityscapes, so transparent, adaptive,
Young and free,
Like the wood moths becoming one
With the aspen in its serenity,
We light upon
France, Spain… Italy.

I know I will find him
In my own verse.
Will discover him
In pages that I’ve turned.
Will recite his thoughts back to him, and will
Love him like poetry.
I will know him by heart.

He write in bread crumbs,
trails of clues that will not be found because the birds have eaten them. Fleeting, unremarkable, but it feeds and feeds and fills empty stomach. Unfulfilling but full.

( Most of the days that is so much better than being hollow)

Over the years, the forest grows.
Grasses mold it self into canopies, rooftops that shields him from the light. A darkness that blinds but pulsing with warmth. Branches twisting towards each other, entangled in each other stories. 'write better' they whispers.
Flowers will not blooms but the sweet smell of honeycombs wafts through the air like hunger.

( we are hungry and hungry and lonely tell us stories, tell us more more more more please moremoreore-)

So the path to home become unrecognizable. Intangible, flickering as if it wanted to be real.
He feels kin ship down to his bones and whimpers fall out from his mouth, quivers but does not fold.
He curled but life would not, will not let him bend.

What should a man do if he cannot curve, cannot bow and break? They all said that to achieve greatness, he have to taste 'broken' on his tongue. Ripe to the point of decaying, fingers sticky with black honey.

He let his teeth chatters, secrets flew out of his mouth like love letters. Carved into him self are the promises made by breakers and yet, honesty is what he sounds like. A forest is an illusion, they say. Wrap your perception until everything look the same and there is only doubt in your self.

( After all everything have to protect their heart)

Peeling barks, bleeds. He bit his lip, wounds are his lovers but everyone knows that love is treacherous. There is a little boy and a man. There is Him, the one who only grows and feeds but never fulfills. 'Isn't that enough?',he asked.
This was what you sow into me, you make me grow into a man but not a human. So he becomes,
forest isn't the only thing that can burn.

( How do you escape your self?)

This is a mirror house, a forest where every trees are your thoughts, their roots are your beliefs, and their seeds are your doing.

(most of the times, it become your own undoings)

You reap what you sow, but what if you are the one  who was sowed.

-nabs

Drab;
  Dreary;
    Bleak;
A grey mood.

why can't I remember my dream last night?

The sun shines;
  I focus on the clouds.

there was a skull involved

Laughter down the street;
  I stay straight-faced with thin lips.

why was I desperate to survive?

An aroma of coffee fills the air;
  I type at my work,
    I try to forget it;
It bothers me...

*what was my dream last night?

names for no one
named by no one

poems about nothing
poems about everything

aren't they the same thing?

no function, no form
but now is the hour
it's how i get through
to the next one

two packs of cigarettes a day
it is getting expensive

old heartaches aren't forgotten
when nothing takes there place
and cigarettes don't pay the rent
freeform makes people stop listening
agoraphobics don't have much to write about
but need to say something
to someone

i wish i'de never met you.
all you did was hurt me in a way
that keeps on coming back, no matter how much times go by.
it was the way you looked at me,
like i was the ugliest thing that you had ever ******
and it made you feel good to let me know.
and it got worse from there, because you threw me away
and then would sporadically write to let me know
you were gone for good.
you were a total ramsay bolton type.
some days i have a memory and can't breathe or function.
i still have nightmares of you

trying to beat me to death, calling me to list off all the things that are wrong with me.

if i can't forget you, it would be great if someone would cut off your ****. sometimes i fantasize about hiring someone to do that to you in your sleep. you could wake up dickless and i could be free of you. but back to the poem:

10 and a half years haven't gotten me anywhere
i've been too old for too long

Bob Dylan
Neil Young
Rolling Stones
Leonard Cohen
Paul Westerberg

everyone is too good for them now,
especially you,
i read that in vice

they made a list of the worst musicians of all time
and all those names were on it.

Johnny Cash was on the list too.