Often when I write, I allow my heart to carry the words to their whim. I often sense danger in this, as any writer would. The exposure can feel threatening, open for recrimination and criticism. Who wishes to endure such for expressing honest, heart-felt emotion?
There exist places in our hearts where we cover and defend the truths that lie there, shielding these tender caves within us, for fear of discovery or attack or indifference. How then, may the writer push forth? Does this act of expression not require strength beyond most people, or does this perspective of needed strength only serve to hide weakness?
Questions to ponder, questions to answer in later poetry, possibly to be countermanded at later points in life. For now, the latest off-the-heart poem, unedited and raw…
Walk with me under a harvest moon,
Hand in hand, fingers intertwined.
Talk with me under the spirit of friendship,
Cares and passions, love intertwined.
Free your heart in truth, in sincerity,
Trust abounding, our sighs intertwined.
See us as kindred lovers,
World in darkness, our hopes intertwined.
For midnights, stark and bleak,
Rain despair through thoughts intertwined.
More – we need each other,
True companions, souls intertwined.
Walk with me under the guise of love,
Soul in soul, smiles intertwined.
Talk with me under the comfort of peace,
Whispers and laughter, lovers intertwined.