Who do you trust with your heartbeat,
Your friend, your husband, your wife,
The one by your side, do you let them inside
To caress and keep beats of your life.
Is their touch the soft hand of an angel,
The firm but the gentle with heart,
Can you trust that their love will secure it
And keep it from stopping with start.
Do their fingers pulse to your heartstrings
And strum all your worries away,
Kept alive by the touch of another
With heart massag’d lovingly each day.
So who do you trust with your heartbeats,
Be it woman or man of your choice,
Be it child or a friend or a lover,
Let them play you with touch of their voice
For the touch of an angel is spoken
In the words that fall from their lips,
Their blessing sustains all hearts broken
But, more, they protect it from this.
This feels like a song, it sounds like a song to me. The music is optional. Your own tune fits just as well as mine.
Beautiful – and it’s a beautiful spot to be in, to trust someone this way, isn’t it?
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I’m blessed by many in this. And thankful beyond what I’m worth. ‘A beautiful spot’ is spot on, Eli.
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and it’s often so elusive … a blessing for sure.
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That is a keeper momus. Very beautifully ewritten my friend. (Now how is that for a Freudian slip, I accidently put the e before written, as in ebook I think. Maybe you are going to create another electronic term of writing. Momus, the ewriter of verse 🙂 )
Definitely for a future book 😀
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You do my heart good, Mark. And my confidence. If necessity is the mother of invention then procrastinaion and abomination spring to mind when editing is involved. I’d sooner put together an ebook, ewritten, ewhatever of poems than attempt to disentangle plot, theme, characters, whateverthefucks from my own prose. Why the feck did I ever say I’d do this? Why the feck did I ever do Naonbastardwrimo? I’m not an author of books. I just have really good ideas that fit poetry. I like to think. But, I’m stuck with the book. Stuck with a capital F. I’ve got tons going on here – procrastination. I despair when I start – abomination. I want to do it but – frustration.
See! I can’t even write without trying to find a fecking rhyme. No! They find me! Do you think maybe I should distil the essence of the book and make it an epic poem? Fuck! I think that might work. I might be able to do this. Maybe. Tomorrow. After tonight. After everything else that’s going on. Eh? Maybe?
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Stop that or there will be no wine left in the house, let alone the bottle 🙂
Your allowing it to control you. Stop. You’ve enjoyed it up till this point…why?
Go back and feel the excitement of starting out…I bet the writing was pouring out.
Like my comment on your other post ‘Simply Known’, just breeeeeathe and be you 🙂
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I really love you! Bugger the wine. All can be fine. I think I know where I’m going now. The message matters more than the construct. It matters, of course, but the story is there already. It was there when the first words came pouring out and all the way through November. It is me that’s stopping my own flow. Did I say I love you? Take that as ad infinitum. That’s some gift you’ve got going on, btw. I feel energised. Ehealing. There’s a thought. 🙂 x
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Mmm, that is a thought momus…must give that some consideration…if I may? 🙂
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May?!!!! I’ll be so annoyed if you don’t. Can you imagine?! Healing in the air. It’s one of the most natural media there is. Exactly as it should be.x
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This is so beautiful! I love this! 😀
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Heart of a mother, Lisa. A wife, a lover. A sister. A friend. Someone who also needs. And needs to give. Have it all. With my love.x
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Xxxx
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I love this!
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I trust you with my heartbeat my beautiful sister xxx
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And I you, missus. As well as with my weans, two of whom, I believe, are round at yours! Tell them dinner’s ready. Unless you’ve fed them. In which case, my feet are up. 🙂 x
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