Lost Love
Let me fill my ink pen with my tears,
And make paper from the lonely years--
If I have years left to live--
That I must be loveless in.
I have often sung love to sweet feminine eyes;
And at times I have won love, life’s surpassing prize;
But now my life of loving is bereft--
Nearly no hope left that I might find love to win.
It is not that I cannot find someone with love to give;
It is that I cannot fully give my manly love of women anymore;
And though they might have, for a whole man, a lot of love to give,
I am not whole--there is so little that I am now able to give, or even take.
What, for me, is there left?
My mortal memories--and a sharp limit on the time that flies.
Now I am writing, across the wind-swept desert face,
The love I feel: and my life-story, in the sand.
And…time will take out every trace.
Everything I hold is falling from my hand.
Even my love-dreams are falling, like sad tears wept upon the desert sand.
-----------------------
Such are the thoughts that sting like bees;
That kill the honey-taker, which now the honey can rarely, barely please.
Of all the sweets I have so dearly loved,
I have only memories of the taste.
It takes too much time now to stir my tasting sense,
Which by no honey-giver could be approved.
So I have no longer any honey to taste,
To sweeten the swallowing of my sentence of death, in the dim desert-waste.
-----------------------
How can the universe deny my need for love?--so that I must cry for love,
And hear no loving echo.
If some lady answers me, then she must truly love me--whole-heartedly--
Because my medically ruined and surgically mutilated body is no longer whole.
I need a woman to love my loving heart, and accept my body’s limited loving.
Medicine, so far, has not cured the crippling that medicine caused.
I call to heaven for help. The concave shores of silence, so far, do not resound.
How can a man with such a heart as mine be allowed to suffer so?
To be sentenced to death by cancer was not enough sorrow for me to know.
I have to know I am no longer fully a man in my abilities--just in my feelings.
Stripped of possibility, in loveless losing life I go toward the deep cold ground.
-----------------------
So this poem is written with my tears,
Upon the paper of my future lonely years--
If I have years left, in the looming face of death by cancer’s painful shears.
I weep my love across the desert-face of shifting sand,
Where nothing of my life shall stay or stand.
=======================
--by Michael LP
aka MLP, aka Mr. Poet, aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC
(I'm just me)
Written on Thursday, May 28, 2009 4:27 pm
Temperature: 96 degrees F. Winds: 3 mph
Copyright © 2011 by Michael L.P.. All rights reserved.
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