Image result for abstract painting black heart

Do you want love?

You already have love,

It’s yours—you cannot give it back.

Love is always yours. Love is a lack.

When you dare to hold another,

And dare to tell them you’ll be true,

That’s when love flies away;

That’s when love looks strangely at you.

“Who is this, with skin and hair,

With eyes and flaws? Who lives here?”

Desire is all you are.

You are a window with a morning star.

You are a hand unlocking a door

Patiently for centuries.

Be patient some more.



  1. February 12, 2018 at 3:08 pm


  2. maryangeladouglas said,

    February 13, 2018 at 7:29 am

    Wrote this poem a few minutes ago.


    read this poem in the language of snow
    your last thought as you turn to go
    read it in silence

    becoming yourself the syllables of a silence
    no one owns
    read it in all colours

    or as apple tree shade

    as it it were transparent or
    the last call made between God and ourselves
    as if it were the last pear shining

    in the orchard of the skies
    read it and tell no lies.
    read it in transitory gleams

    read it as if you were breathing flowers

    read it as you would be read to
    as a child, floating on a stream of, is this possible?
    read it and bring on the milder weather

    let your heart think evenly silverly
    so our boats do not tip over
    on the lake of dreams.

    mary angela douglas 13 february 2018

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