Book of Love. Book of life

A poem about creating a masterpiece in life....

Book of Love.

Book of life.

I think that's what attracts you to me;

my recklessness, the haphazard nature,

tossled sheets, creamy porcelain skin,

but much more...the deep mind that creates

this chaos.......

penetrates,

reverberates

in the corners of your own mind.

Still holding on,

but in my book of love

every chapter was more somber 

than the one before.

But your hands fix errors,

add description, define me.

And I want the world to see,

but we both know I have to be

locked up,

for circumstances beyond our control.

so you can keep a hold of your seeds,

and wake each day knowing you

worked hard to succeed.

But my head spins,

tears cloud my eyes,

pain grasps my chest so tight

I feel I will be crushed

under mental anguish,

emotional pain,

before any decision is made.

My talents shine,

and your hand pushes me toward the light.

But only I can make it fully right.

Loving myself is such a hard task.

But why does it have to be?

Is it me?

What am I lacking in my life,

or is our union creating mass hysteria

to the point of no return?

Thinking of a fatal conclusion to my book of life,

becuase my book of love told me so.

But then I see wrists still pure, talent so deep,

a mind still clear and apt to learn.

My Brother, in the garden,

felt every pain,

but did he feel mine?

How intense did he bleed for what I've endured,

and what I lock myself into?

Love and life.

Two separate things in my book of love.

I can love,

but not necessarily live.

I can live,

but not always love.

But one thing that always remains true

is that I am the sole writer of my own 

story. My own life novel.

And without love, for the writer,

how can I ever create a masterpiece?

Author's Note

Deep. I always write poetry when I am at the peak of my emotions, this is no exception. I've had a really tough two weeks. A relationship I am in, is so intense, and so complicated, but I feel there is no where to turn. When you have love for them so deeply. But then again, shouldn't the one we love the most...is ourself? And who writes the story of life? Only we do.

Reviews

[Xeru]

Your writing is so passionate. It drips with the desire to feel at its apex. This joint was a feel write. You had to feel the interpretation in order to get the full affect of its vibrance and to detect the fullness of your soul. I really dig the power you gave to this piece. The balance of your love's independance and dependancy. You hide alot of highly concentrated themes in your writings by still solely referring to you. Its an addictive style. I dig it. Definately.

"I can love,
but not necessarily live.
I can live,
but not always love."

Thats the paradox for alot of passionate people. Doing one feels like you negate the other. What is the solution?

[C.R. Moore "Lasla"]

I really loved the power and passion in you gave to this piece it has its own energy.
A very nice write with a harmonic flow that only you can give it!

[jennifer little]

wonderful poetry loved reading it great job keep up the wonderful work and nice write