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and then I asked you,
"What's your biggest fear?"

you gave me a quivering sigh,
looked at me straight in the eyes
and said,

"It's that eventually, you will see me
the way I see myself."
There is a story to tell.
I met a person.
There is much to tell.
Choked up emotions.

The person listens.
Reads my stories too.
Not only the intro,
but the whole thing through.

Tells me I am great,
when I know the truth.
This has to be fate.
Because it soothes.

Positive and,
Appreciates.
Hard work, effort.
Invigorates.

The person fills,
me with words.
When I am lost,
and I am slurred.

Hair so curly,
Maybe straight.
Not sure, did
not speculate.

Eyes brown,
maybe blue.
Come to think of it,
it is you.
Seldom does one write an emotional poem
Not relating to death and depression
Nor the dark demons caged within...
A shard of the dark side of the soul
Can be found buried within
The depths of each poem carved onto the page
With the ink of the beating heart...
And maybe that reminds those of us
Who live and bleed between the words spilled
That only in the suffering
Can we truly begin to understand
And only in the understanding
Can we truly begin to live...
Because we live
Only to spill these words
So that others may have a chance
At the second life that blooms
From all the heartache...
All only so
The world can be seen
In the different lights
The aching words promise
Bits of a writing assignment buried back in time about the topic "Why is the 'best' or the most historically popular poetry depressing?"... Leave your thoughts
i’ve been thinking a lot
about your hand in mine
the way that our fingers
and palms intertwine

but i think about death
about loss, about worth
i admit that i fear
to return to the earth

where our bodies dissolve
into roots of a tree
and will grow into trunk
then limb, then leaf

but i've heard from a bird
that death will reverse
and your heart will beat hard
like it did at your birth

so hold on for dear life
with your hand in mine
if death makes us let go
it is only for time



© Mike Mortensen
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