Come Back, Bevie - I Still Love You

I don't write poetry much. Not much good at it. I tend to use the same few cadences over and over and over again. But when I do write it, it touches me. Good poets touch others. I don't. My poems are for me. Pity. But maybe not. My deepest poems often bring me to tears.

I wrote this just this morning. I got up at 1:00 a.m. and came down to the computer and caught up in the business inventory. Spouse has been wanting me to get this done for a couple of weeks now. I've not been good about it. The business is a failure and I drag my feet for it. Did get the Minnesota Sales Tax filed on time. [sad smile] When I finished, about 3:00 a.m., I didn't know what to do with myself. So I've been bathing in my music. I've been going home, where it's safe and secure. Looking for the place of comfort. When I came across Kenny Loggins, Return to Pooh, I opened Word and began writing whatever my feelings were. This is the result. I changed one line during my Read. Otherwise, its the original draft.

It's a poultice song, if you know what that is. My face needs to be wet right now.

I call it, The Spoken Words of Love. Just because.

The Spoken Words of Love

Love. I’ve heard it spoken of well.
It’s the thing of beauty which saves us from hell.
Come gather me, and wrap me in your arms.
Comfort me and hold me and shield me from harm

The beauty of your eyes is like emeralds in the sun
They shine in my heart and make fear come undone
You gaze in my eyes and I melt from your heat
I giggle with joy because our eyes meet

In your arms I can cry and rest from my fears
In your arms I am safe and you dry all my tears
I’m wayward and poor, and acceptance I seek
You give it to me and I’m strong when I’m weak

I love you, my God, and I wish I were good
You know I am not – I live not as I should
Forgive me and love me and hold me again
Touch my deep spirit and keep me from sin

I am such a child, I am such a fool
My need to be loved just makes me a tool
Let me cry now and let me now sleep
Take the weeds from my garden before I must reap

Love. I’ve heard it spoken of well.
It’s the thing of beauty which saves us from hell.
Come gather me, and wrap me in your arms.
Comfort me and hold me and shield me from harm