Stolen Heart
I find it amusing
the notion that you stole my heart
like a bandit who crept in while I slept
and pocketed
my greatest treasure.
This heart?
This living, pulsing sun
that makes flowers bloom
and hastens the birth of Spring?
As if fingers could grasp it, resist
its flames
As if it were something one could possess
like a jewel, left unguarded
My heart can no more be stolen
than the current stolen from the river.
My heart can belong to no one
any more than the stars belong to the night.
What you hold now
that which slipped from clumsy fingers
or is kept dusty on a shelf
or perhaps was hung on your wall to admire
is merely a relic
a crystal glass filled with the golden water
I poured for you
from the precious fount that still beats within me.
It was always yours to spill
or shatter
or drink.
But whatever you choose, know
that my heart is full
and will fill your glass again and again
and yet again
until you understand true love
until you know forgiveness.
The Girl From Jupiter 
Love is beautiful
wow
That was beautiful! My favorite poem by you so far!
Oh wow, thank you! ☺️
jupiter sounds romantic. there is a distinct, olden way of expression here. it is as if i am revisiting sonnets from the Bard of Avon himself. brava indeed. i too write poetry like yourself. Love can bruise, bend our hearts. leave it empty and sadness too.
If it is possible to be both deeply romantic and and cynical, then that is I.