Dream Time Poetry » Grief and Loss

The heart of love

Helen Howell — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 05:43:59 +0000

‘tis the heart of love that mourns
and cries the tears of need
silently within the self
no one has access to.

And not to say it goes away
amidst a fulsome life
or changes form and mutates
into something less
as the years accumulate
one upon another.

‘tis the heart of love that knows
to keep it in a safe place
while turned it is by destiny
to look upon another face.

And not to say the heart of love
can’t o’er lay the grief
with a different kind of feel
and it’s called in modern parlance
the moving on from love.

But ‘tis the heart of love
that must move beyond the grave
for there perhaps another face
and another sense of grace
will capture and hold sway
over all of life’s dismay.

Perhaps, perhaps! Perhaps I make it so
by the thinking and the planning
of a future that I presently
don’t even know I’ll have!

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It’s like …

Helen Howell — Sun, 02 Mar 2008 06:54:55 +0000

It’s like that settled state of peace
becomes restless in its sleep
and I awake to heartache
and a mind is disarray.

Of course it’s just the knowing
no grace allowed for spirit love
to manifest from dreams to real
and keep a woman/man in love
till death begets again
the making of another life.

And it’s like the tears are too confined
within where they abide
and seek they do the free outside
to fill chambers of the eyes
and flood the conscious mind
with severe loneliness.

Then rises so the will and need
to bury love deep under ground
and turn the dial from then to now
with sheer determined strength.

I hear the click of notches passed
and smile at my achievement
but lo behold the damn thing slips
and swings back to the start.

And it’s like the turn, turn, try again
will one day reach the end
and stick in the final groove
of inconsequential “stuff”
not meant to stay in memory ~
and that surely is the hope
of unrequited love!

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Who writes?

Helen Howell — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 10:29:51 +0000

Seconds, minutes, hours,
and time merges them together
until day gives way to night
and I walk the shadowed halls
of each weakness I possess.

Night comforts and caresses
like a lover’s gentle hands
and I stir within a dream
frightened there to see
love walks a lonely path
beyond my mental feel.

Wakeful now, aware,
but dreaming still I see
the coming in of loneliness
and I suffocate.

(Photograph by Gareth Howell)

“Breathe”, she says,
and I listen to the gurgle
of one by love possessed
rise up and out in agony
into the still and silent night.

Dramatic for effect
and I read the words, reflect;
who writes the pain and heartache
of unrequited love?

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It’s like …