Broken Heart's a Splinter

Only she knew what it felt like,
The heartache, the pain.
The heartbreak, the drain.
She was tired. Numb.
Broken. Slain. Damp,
like a wet tattered, rotting clothe,
She felt her heart bleed this mundane broth.
Only she knew what it sounded like,
A mile away couldn't be gotten,
Hasn't been forgotten, 
Will never be forgiven.
A lifetime in a hell all of a sudden.
An anguish of hate like a scum plotted, 
It burns. 
Only she knew what it tasted like,
Something bitter, something ripe,
Something sweet, gone dry,
Something sticky, something in a pipe,
Something salty, or just like rye...dry.
A gagging reflex like one of raw pie.
Only she knew what it looked like,
A beautiful canvas blemished,
Something covered with smeared mix of marsh,
Or a plain paper with unhinged sketch,
One that tears her apart from within,
And ravels the out into a spitting dragon.
Only she knew what it smelt like,
Sweet sweet aroma morphed into thick,
But raw, dark but soar, reeking havoc
To the many nostrils.
Spreading slowly like a cancer unknown
to the soul within and the being without,
She trod, she fought,
She taught, she brought,
She thought she bought,
her freedom out.
She ought
to know she maybe be stuck,
Drunk and held in a dance never ending,
With her mate, the scourge of a heart's splinter.
She's caught
in a web of trends too tight,
Tends to fight her from within.
But
Love,
Came and saw a broken wing,
a sore core. 
Gave a precious renewing and a heartful pour
of sweet mending to rekindling the forgotten gold. 
With promise to cherish and to hold
But
Love, 
Flew in from a far away time, 
A distant longing to have and to hold. 
With replenishing ego to build up a torn soul.
This
Love, 
Felt like a God given hug for mishaps had, 
restoring the blessed and yearned for part. 
All in all giving the most out of the best, 
filling the most vast with the pure cream-first, 
And healing, 
Healing a heart's splinter; blooming...
This
Love.
Love always wins.
Love always frees.
Love always brings
with it hope and new beginnings,
Love always gives, 
Love always gifts, 
Love always mends
all sorts of ails.
The
Love, 
seems to bring a happiness forgotten, 
And reignites fresh anointing,
Setting a pace of a heart grown slow and cold, 
With fast pace faster and warmer, 
Giving life to withered petals of the heart's ancient flower,
his
Love,
quenched the bitter thirst of something different, 
something real, something authentic
to give her freedom in the vulnerable face.
And most importantly, 
His
Love, 
reminds of the basic path forgotten, 
now delivered to live afresh, 
Breathes life into the inner being...
Now, sees a brighter day that saves in a heartbeat.
Forever nourishes, forever guards.
This
Love, 
Love always prevails
views of serene quiet waters taken in and, 
of true sun kissed skies and cool breezes.
Here,
the heart's splinter knows not pain no more.

FLOWERS ALL AROUND YOU

Flowers, flowers, flowers all around you.
Will you pick mine?
Will you have mine?
As if to pilfer,
Will you prefer to cherish mine close to your heart?
And guard it wholly from the unforgivably scorching sun.

Nerves on edge, I wait,
For the veracity of the reality of tales untold,
For that which keeps my villein apart,
soul's untapped,
mind unsearched,
heart's apart,
I hold no ground and shudder at my wilting flower.
Flowers, flowers, flowers all around you.
Will you pick mine?

So now in a fragile vase, it holds,
what may seem desirable, I ponder
for beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder
This vase, a desert of sweet words,
Can be made real only when
whisked away to offbeat worlds.
This vase, this heart, forgets its essence;
Its joyous feel, its soothing comfort,
Will you remind me of it?

Take me away far from what I fear!
Far from what I shudder!
Far from that dark horror!
Where I may be that one flower in your vase,
to keep in your delicate glass case,
Such dreams, such fantasies are my closest companion
That counts them in picture frame one by one,
only to be remembered easy,
As that fragile flower in full blossom in your chassis.

But...
Anyway,
Anywhere,
Anyhow,
I awake to the reality;
Flowers all around you.


Dove. :)

Cold Fired Walls

There is fire in these walls,
Yet this room is cold.
This fire illuminates the darkness it withholds.
It beats all odds and fights the fathoming power,
It beats the sense that the mind can hold.
These walls may speak,
These walls may seek,
to unearth the incredible,
undignified,
somewhat explicit scenes.
These walls may haul,
These walls may squall,
to retrieve the burry nature,
horrid existence,
mysterious demeanor,
of the secrets it holds.
These walls burn within,
and make no sound,
These walls shield,
and keep that which quenches its depths.
There is fire in The Walls,
And only I can see it.
But cannot feel it.
I do not understand it.
Should I put it out?
Should I wash it out?
Or should I simply play the part of an ignorant bleeding stout?
Should I doubt?
Should I pout?
Or should I diligently offer an abundance of drought?
Drought of water that purifies, 
Drought of love that simplifies,
Drought of food that edifies the soul that this room upholds.
The room that these walls hold are not warm,
They are not welcoming...
Are not home.
Yet there is an overwhelming comfort.
The burning walls scare me.
They appall me,
yet I feel safe.
These walls may speak,
These walls may seek,
These walls may haul,
These walls may squall,
There is fire in these walls,
And only I can see it.
But cannot feel it.
I do not understand it...
So I will let it burn until that day they please to speak to me,
And tell me what they daily behold.

Spirit Awaken

I put on the armour,
to fight,
I am weak,
I have no power,
It's not a natural fight.

It's all unnatural.
It's supernatural.
It's not a natural fight.

I cannot move without Your lead,
I am helpless on my own.
My spirit is broken into pieces.
I feel alone and scared,
and the thoughts are bounding.
So I have to die to the world,
for my spirit to awaken.
I have to find a source,
and the source is divine.
I cannot do it on my own.
I am powerless;
spirit die,
then awaken.
I have to find a new me,
because inside,
it's a riveting urge,
to awaken.
It's a fight,
to be broken.
I have to die...
to live.

Hidden Feelings

My feelings for you are like tears of a clown,
You may never see them because there is paint over his frown,
A clown is a lonely person,
although never alone,
when the paint comes off,
he still has to go home.
I juggle my thoughts,
and weigh all my facts,
It gets really hard,
going through life as an act.
So I'll put on some paint,
and I'll make me a smile,
and my feelings for you,
you won't so for a while.

Micheal R. Levreault

The Harvest

From the horizon as the sun rises,
To the sounthern rivers flow,
The wind blows,
The flowers bloom,
The grass glimmers in the sun's afternoon,
The sound from the flowing rivers confirming it is time,
Time to be thankful to The Shield;
Time to go into the field,
and have the God-given promise,
All is green,
All is ripe,
All is ready to take in on the scene,
As a chosen people.
It is time,
we should all be strengthened,
For the harvest gives a transformation,
Conformation to The Supreme,
A revelation revealed and to be taken in only by the chosen...
The chosen generation.
This harvest gives a full replenish to the soul,
Deep, like the river flows,
The soul will yearn deeply for the harvest's Father,
As lives move together
With His heart,
His mind and soul,
And His ambiance fills each soul,
...and overflows,
As our hearts and His beat as one.

Scorpion's Sting

Like a repeated song that never ends,
Sounding over and over like a haunting nursery rhyme,
Its at the top of my head,
I can almost sing it in my sleep,
Say it,
I know it,
I understand it,
I have been told of it time and time again,
Don't I listen?
Once bitten twice shy, they say,
It's been said for ages,
Why can't I stop myself if I know I will only harm myself?
hypnotized,
paralysed,
my emotions come synthesized...
to the rhythm.
The probability is at its zenith,
It's funny 'cause I know how it works,
...and destroys!
I know that when it bites,
it doesn't let go,
...at least for a while,
It goes in too deep, to the soul within;
Its poison stays within and paralyzes the mind,
...makes it like it's not your own.
Now the heart is at its best;
and nothing...
no one can stop it,
Thoughts are not coherent most of the time,
speech is impaired,
sight is programed to one thing,
...one person,
hearing is focused to sweetness,
touch stays longing for that one day;
to last forever...
taste is mystified of its wonder,
heart remains in yearning;
...for that one moment,
That confirming moment of truth.
But haven't they said?
Haven't they told me?
Isn't it so evident?
...hypnotized by the scorpion's sting.