Imagining a dove,
makes me make sense.
It gives me purpose
and drives me to cleanse.
Love gone past,
the trauma, oh the pain,
makes the synapses fire
deep inside my brain.
I wish I felt better
so I could make sense
to those who do know
loss of love, its absence.
Deny my heart a hearth,
I think the Lord is complicit
in the things people try
that make me want to cry.
Feel the gloom, the ocean
in my eyes are hazy red,
and the drowning I have done
makes stress rain in my head.
I need an ear to hear beauty
from sinews of a voice pretty.
So in mind, I might do my duty
to see past trivialities silly.
I am no monk; the Lord
hasn’t possessed my soul.
I don’t like the thought
of anything like control.
I want the day to evolve,
no harm to those near me,
for I have seen pain in droves,
I’ve felt so much insincerity.
So I pour my heart out,
true and need a touch
from a hand genuine,
who is no speedy rush.
I wish for love abound,
and imagination takes me.
I want to just be myself,
and for life to let me be.
A version of myself I stay,
away from stress all I can.
I want to be a better version
of who I am as a man.
We were not meant to be alone.
I need a furnace of love,
one who tries to see past my
pain from an absent dove.
RMC 