We love. But love not only as our selves.
The words we speak others have said before
who loved as much, or maybe even more.
So many books randomly piled on shelves

that teeter in the corners of my mind
all book-marked, dog-eared. I have searched them through
to find the perfect lines to write to you.
The fluttering archer god is wholly blind

so that he does not read. The perfect shot
he makes pierces the centre of each heart
and it’s his archery and not his art
that strikes where love should go, ignores where not.

Poets are never silent. It’s our curse
never to love in stillness, always verse.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s