The Lifting Love

I peer into a room from above
and see lots of little people
all running around, headless.
They’ve lost their heads.

Hands like pincers open; shut.
Needing any scrap of life they
can gnaw on, and they rummage
through the waste of joy.

I wish so dearly I could lift these
poor children out of their cage,
but they see themselves as free
under a multitude of their words; breathless.

I am no better, and I am no worse.
I AM, and I use that as my right to be.
Suddenly complete, and suddenly free.
Throw your heads up, reach high.

Little people you are your other half.
In the dark world you are your light.
Suck down the sweet air and release the pain.
Burst those bubbles, and laugh out loud.

Happiness is not justified; it simply is.
Like angels all around you it is there.
Breach the shell of fear encasing you
and bask in the love; the lifting love.

Picking Pears

Plucking pears from branches
hanging low bearing their children
and I can’t tell if your eyes are
wondering amongst the fruits or me.

The next morning light I awake
and thoughts of you seem so weak.
The lines speak so many volumes in
between, but the story seems surreal.

Funny stars twinkling in cahoots of
what I imagine must be a celestial joke.
Jokes; I stopped worrying about what I
seem like from the outside of myself.

I can be honest, and make concrete claims.
I wanted you, but not really you yourself.
It was really the idea of us together that I wanted,
because I thought cohesion could cure.

Your eyes are on fire for those juicy pears.
You only brush my hand when you reach past me.
That being so I’ll let you taste what you desire
and I’ll love the wonderful person I already know.

I figure if one wishes to have me then
I will know; these pallid half-hearted hopes
are beginning to make my head float uneasily.
Impulsion has been my signature, but perhaps no more.