poetry is oft
written
by those who
love too
much
too freely
hearts splayed open
on sterile dissection trays
cool stainless pins
trapping vulnerable
fluttering edges
i am a darker
object
I fear I love
too little
too miserly
my specimen heart
muffled below
weighted blankets
fingers absently rolling
small plastic beads
that dwell
below cheerful
cotton covers
hiding the graveyard
that fills
right ventricle
ghosts who haunt the left
atriums full of
cobweb-draped skeletons
loss
unresolved grief
pump through
veins
arteries
thick
black &
sticky
© 2021 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved
Brave & Reckless 
Where there is love,
there must, in this mortal realm,
be grief.
They love most freely
who accept the price.
And when tears fall on paper,
poetry appears.
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Thank you my friend for reminding me that someone still wants to read my writing/
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Oh, very much so. ❤
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❤️
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
Christine Ray – Love and Grief
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yyyyyyyyeeeeeeeesssssssssss
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I am so glad you approve. I rather liked the line, ‘i am a darker
object’
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I loved it and it made my day to see you writing again!
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❤️
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