I wrote these two rather ‘painful’ poems some time ago from those little bits and pieces I mentioned in an earlier post I gathered during the days. They don’t really mean anything, or even if they do, they are not related to anything in my life now, but perhaps in the past somewhere. They are both without titles, since I don’t count them as proper poems, for some reasons, more like unfinished or fragments, only.
The first one:
I’ve torn my heart from the slightest touch,
handed it to people undeserving
and gotten from these pains what? Such a rush,
yes, but horrid understanding
that nothing in this world is given free;
you can try your luck and think
you’ve got it all. But in the end, see –
This is how it goes.
Your heart will break, within, or
in their hands. It is not safe
no matter how you try.
The second one:
I need you to tell my poor heart when to beat
and to teach my heavy chest again to breathe.
My silent lips know not yet how to speak,
and my bones and muscles feel so very weak.