Paul Andrew Bourne

Paul Andrew Bourne Poems

Like the dew of the morning,
No one knows from whence it came
Or where it goes thereafter
Like a thought
...

2.

I stood perched on the mountain
like a thief, like a thief
like a thief I stood in a surveillance mode
searching for the cracks,
...

Like a seed
I began in the open firmaments of the heavens
battered by the very elements of nature
to make me strong
...

Hurting
hurting deeply
hurting severely
weeping, rolling, irritated
...

Each day slowly drifts afoot
pointing, inching, driving
the beginning of a scientific genesis
the creation of a whole new form
...

I'm a man
clothed in mystic, power and structure
labeled by the socialization
after arrival
...

I see emptiness in their utterances
I see corruption as their intent
as what is uttered is not meant
and what is meant to be interpreted,
...

I remember YOU:
NOT for your manly aggression,
NOT for your gruesome hits,
NOT for your poor judgements,
...

9.

The waves
just watch them caress the banks
with childish anger
while they
...

Poverty, freedom of movement
crippled not by conflicts of
pre-1962 Jamaica
but by political tribalism,
...

11.

just cry my love...
let the world recognize
that, that a vein is damaged;
and ‘cause of socialization principles
...

12.

Life
a freshly cut rose
a prize just won
a delicacy of exotic foods
...

Only if
Only if
That is, only if
Only if
...

a bullet!
a single bullet!
just a piece of metal
in the wrong hand -
...

Alas! I awoke from within
shackles of veracity
laid
on my charge
...

16.

I see not love again because of my former years
I kept the hate of love lost bottled deep inside
as - those days that I loved
I did with the heart of a fool
...

I sat in my homeland
just looking at the gods’ majestic creations
in amazement
...

I awoke advancing from the confines of a covenant
like leaves in an opened runlet. To see waters cascading
in from off the citadel of ravished bowels
from the acceptance of twisted and broken things.
...

19.

bitter!
Ooooh
bitter!
bitter more than vinegar
...

20.

Thrill me with words that can
open a rusty lock
fill the spirit with love
uplift a bitter soul
...

The Best Poem Of Paul Andrew Bourne

What Is Love?

Like the dew of the morning,
No one knows from whence it came
Or where it goes thereafter
Like a thought
No one knows of where it starts
I see or don't I see
The emptiness of my being without love
I can't explain its call on my soul
Neither its power over me
Nor the spirit that its bring over me
if love is not the abuse of power
then power is useless without love
But, what is love?
Truly, what tis love, that I should be mindful of it?
It is like a weapon in the hands of the enemy,
a destructive force that can't be quenched by jealousy


Like the dew of the morning,
No one knows from whence it came
Or where it goes thereafter
Like a thought
No one knows of where it starts
I see or don't I see
The emptiness of my being without love
I yearn for its warmth, its kindness, its charm, its wildfire
It dominates my mind like bad news
It clings to my being with favour
Like a screw it opens my being with resistance
All I'll be is the vessel that carries this burning feeling of desire
Of a desire
That cripples my everything in its wake

Like the dew of the morning,
No one knows from whence it came
Or where it goes thereafter
Like a thought
No one knows of where it starts
I see or don't I see
The emptiness of my being without love
I'm awaken by love early in the morning
And its linger longer after the lights are off for sleep
I'm awaken by this call from the deep
No one knows how much
This thing has consume their everything
Love
Love, where is thine beginning?
Or ending
And why do I not have the right to let you in
I desire thee because of non-avoidance
I know not why
But, you have destroyed me by your every move

Like the dew of the morning,
No one knows from whence it came
Or where it goes thereafter
Like a thought
No one knows of where it starts
I see or don't I see
The emptiness of my being without love
What is love that my being resisteth thee not?
What is love that I know not the minute of your beginning?
Or do I not know of what constitutes thee
Love is exceptional to love's mystery
What is love, if I know thee not?
What is love that I hold so dear to thee?
Despite its fragility, why do I love, love so much
I can't foresee my life with its magic
Yet, I hate its ending like a blind man so
Desperately wanting to view the world through the lens of his eyes

Like the dew of the morning,
No one knows from whence it came
Or where it goes thereafter
Like a thought
No one knows of where it starts
I see or don't I see
The emptiness of my being without love
Yet I beg the question ‘what is love? '


Paul Andrew Bourne

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