Hoard neither love nor time! Stashed away, A year of love, night or day, Ain’t worth a dime!
Nor fritter either as ceremonies But as memories Lived of former moons and suns And all loved ones!
For time and love, if well-spent Are hell-bent On keeping you! They wait As one upon you!
Poet’s Note: The poem employs as its key metaphor the idea that time and love aren’t meant to be hoarded or stashed away in bank accounts the way money is, though money and bank accounts are not once mentioned! Love is time when time is love – the two are inseparable when one takes the time to love! The poem’s lesson is in the last verse.
I haven’t been able to sleep. What you said, perhaps just offhandedly, perhaps not really caring at all, has me wide awake lost in those silly impossible dreams and longings that overtake my being so often. You cannot know how
I write beautiful poems in my quiet times, Sign that the universe delivers in silence – Great inspirations about love and crimes – With a poetic virtuoso ,I build my intelligence- Which I use to extract imaginative awareness- For the
Don’t remember when it happened A year ago or a few, But a strange thing has happened And, for me, a very new. It all started with a prologue, As it always does, A prologue very interesting, For the both
I don’t remember What it was in that moment, That it all began. As if all that started Was on a sabbatical! And now that I know ‘now’, denouement is denied. Lurching and limping, from love to half-love. Scrounging for