My heart is not a keepsake box.
It clicks open and closed, no safety locks.
With flutters and pauses until it stops,
Love is not secure as it ought.
Instead, I'll keep you in my mind
To whirl and dance in dreams of our design.
Any better place would be rare to find,
Than this hiding place of yours and mine.
~~~
Poetry is not my thing, but I was struck with this thought today, as I considered a few close friends who have been struggling with heart issues. Please don't criticize me too harshly.... I believe the last poem I wrote was something forced by my College Lit professor back in 1997. Enjoy, if you can.
And you said you couldn't do poetry! That's great!!
ReplyDeleteThanks! I don't like the confines of poetry, but funny how something comes to you anyway.
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