Poetry Is An Emotion Poem by Edmund Calleja

~ Your intellect may be confused,
but your emotions will never lie to you ~
Roger Ebert



Sometimes I ask myself
how long will this dream last?
will it ever bear me love
or will it simply gather dust?

Frozen memories cast in time
loving dreams you can’t forget,
solitude and remembrances
soaked in remorse and in regret.

Poetry is an emotion
immersed in love and rosy gladness,
turning visions into longings
and your yearning into sadness.

Then I listen to my heart
as I reminisce in my verse,
soothing lines I can’t help musing
that my sadness I may nurse.

Things that lovers say and do
to each other as they kiss,
while caressing and embracingmagic moments full of bliss.

The risks I should have taken
but then never found the courage,
of an emotional imbalance
that I feared I could not manage.

To go searching for your dreams
which you know you can achieve,
for the love you know exists
just as long as you believe.

To fall in love is always risky
or so had I been told,
but I had never really tried
as I had never been so bold.

Love can be all so addictive
it will tell you if you’re in love,
once you make it you’re addicted
and you’ll never have enough.

Then you’ll know when you find love
then you’ll know that love has found you,
as its freshness is celestial
it’s like sipping morning dew.

You will also feel enchanted
as your lyrics turn to song,
but my sweetheart will just tell me
‘how I wish you had been strong’

Then one day we met again
I just thought I would not mind,
all my life all those regrets
how could I have been so blind?

We sat together in a café
ruminating the old days,
longing for all those passions
that had set our heart ablaze.

We held hands and we just talked
not as lovers but as friends,
she could see I was sincere
as I tried to make amends.

We should have shared together
fairy tales of love and fantasy,
we should have freed all our love
and then bathed in its ecstasy.

Then she looked at me in wonder
and her eyes were sparkling gleam,
was that really what I saw
or was it just a wishful dream.

Forty years must have gone by
since she kissed me that last time,
while she hugged me she kept saying
‘you can never now be mine’.

Hopes and dreams and utter conflicts
a heart beating joy and pain,
but I knew that when she left me
we would never love again.

I saw wrinkles on her face
I saw flaky graying hair,
but all I could remember
was her vision sweet and fair.

True love never comes in stages
but will sweep you off your feet,
she was my very first love
all so lovely and so petite.

But almost no one that I know
one’s first love has ever wed,
I should have burned the bridges
healing wounds that my heart bled.

All the verses I’ve since penned
have been written because of her,
for the love I’ve always cherished
and which I never could inter.

Romantic verses were then born
the very first that I had written,
when the light and darkness merged
and with nostalgia I was smitten.

It was a time for wishful crying
when lost love then touched my heart,
when the hand of fate conspired
and our love just fell apart.

Better die than fail to love
but why rekindle a past flame?
when your heart was also pleading
she is not for you to claim?

And that is how I’ve always known
that loving poetry is an emotion,
that when in verse it is embodied
it will create a loving ocean.




3rd April 2011