Into Place

The museum of my heart and soul is no longer closed for repair.


I am taking the advice of myself, as well as others and giving this blog a little bit more of a consistent flare.
Starting with this post, I will begin to share a deeper part of me.  For the foreseeable future I will publish poetry from my past, the part of my poetic past is something that goes deeper into me than I ever have.
The museum of my heart and soul is no longer closed for repair.  These words were pivotal in the growth of me.  They have not been altered.  They are as genuine and juvenile as they were whenever I wrote them some, twenty odd years ago.  They are laden with adolescent feelings, but they carry feeling nonetheless.
So without further adieu….

Two o’clock in the morning
My world feels locked
Freedom rings
Words sting
I’ve been here before
I can still see the shore
It’s only time
That makes us yearn for more
More of what we’ve got
And less of what we need
Without caring
How much we bleed
Lessons are learned with
Every new task
Don’t ever be afraid
To look around and ask
For the simple things
Demand our dreams
To flaunt themselves
Upon our wings
The darkness covers us
Like a winters blanket of snow
In the evening
You make things move slow
The warmth of truth
Put’s perspective
Into Place.
Poetic Past v.1 / ca. 1996
-Be Love- 

Oh the savagery of prose.  It pushes my OCD into third gear.  But that’s it, unabridged and unhindered.  Until the next time.

-BL-

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