It's never the memories,
It's that hoarde of feelings
Leaves me empty of tears now,
Until my eyes are like stones,
...
Between day's start and end
Life's prosaic, dear friend -
A poem each day
Keeps drabness at bay,
...
A poet longs for his to be
A love as strong as death - we crave
A Song of Songs, of jealousy
Unyielding as the grave -
...
Hello, my name's Jonathan. I was born and raised in Kent, but I live and work in London now. I get my passion for poetry from my father; ever since I can remember he'd keep me entertained by making up his own daft nursery rhymes and songs, and always encouraged me to come up with my own. Reading, writing or talking about poetry are things that I've loved all my life.)
A Backhanded Love Song
It's never the memories,
It's that hoarde of feelings
Leaves me empty of tears now,
Until my eyes are like stones,
And my heart a fist pulped in its beating,
And all my hard-headed sense
Nothing but sharp, broken pieces.
So understand, my love,
The thought of you means nothing -
The passion is mine. Alone.
(24th January 2009 - London)