she suffered from internal injuries
chronic pain lodged in the soul
that seemed to be resistant
to any and all medication....
other than poetic ponderings
so she took poetry
in massive doses, swallowed whole
she spit it out on the page
co-mingled with heart’s blood
and strangely found relief...
momentarily, in the treatment
it was almost sweet enough
to make life’s bitterness palatable
steaming hot enough to challenge
the hypothermia of her heart
healing enough to sweat out
the chilling fevers of discontent
he was a poet of love, as damaged,
as internally injured as she
purging his pain with a potent pen
soliciting her with promises
of a cure for their mutual malady
but if the poetic physician
has no skill to heal himself
what on earth makes her imagine
he can cure her? they're both
terminally hopeless romantics
searching for a love vaccine
they'll wish they hadn’t found
when at last it gets under their skin
I can sooo relate to this one, poets of a romantic heart will always seek the passion and desires of their hearts and souls. It is our nature and I often wonder if we ever stop searching even when we find what we thought would make us happy...
hugs
Fee
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
hugs
Fee
Be always safe,
Karen
Love Tinka
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D
A very mysterious malady of life that has plagued many down through the ages.