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Bernadette Grove Poem
It's Hard for me to say, but even harder to realize,
That everything I see is laced in pretty lies,
It's hard for me to be, as confused as I am about it.
I try to turn blind eyes, but twenty- twenty's against me,
I can't be the only one feeling concern about it,
I try to be objective, but now I'm mad about it,
Dig my heels into dirt walls, as I fall deeper,
pouring water down the sides, they slough away and grow steeper.
I ask for answers, you give me rhetoric,
At the risk of out of turn, your making me feel sick.
How hard is it to speak, exactly what's on my mind,
The harder I fight, the more tightly I wind,
What's the point of kindness if it's not taken seriously,
I have so much to say, so listen carefully.
It started out just fine, until I called you mine,
I stare in disbelief while looking all around,
Completely unaware, my hands were tightly bound.
I've heard of Stockholm Syndrome, but you will surely be,
the final nail in our coffin and so the death of me.
If freedom was an anchor, you used it as a weapon first.
If freedom's found on a battle ground, I guess that means I'm cursed.
Now I'm holding on, while living in the past,
Surfing in the wake of the shadow that you cast.
Down the rabbit hole my dear, with everything to fear.
When heels begin to bleed, I consider taking heed.
Say I won't hold on much longer as my grip becomes much stronger.
You say you need me, I need you too,
so we sip the poison before our round of roulette,
hoping that the tonic will help us to forget.
The toil and trouble that plagues our existence,
My stomach is churning in angry resistance.
It all comes down too a simple boast,
Who's heart can handle most?
A glass raised, twinkle in your eye,
A single thought, is this how I die?
My understanding rises as confidence quickly falls,
I have no attack against a heart buffered in brick walls.
Unbreakable, uneatable, impenetrable..
Synthetic, guarded, fearful.
We've all hurt before, trained out of wanting more.
Silenced behind the red tape, tracing outlines in chalk.
Waiting for some blue cape, to break through and be our rock,
Make it all better, so we send it in a letter to the editor,
Who is to busy to be bothered with it.
time is running out.
This is not the end, it never really is,
Even if the plot resembles le mis,
Tragedy at every corner but look for the lining,
There is no sense in living if it only leads to pinning,
so follow the fire until it burns out,
Living through pain is how the weak are weeded out.
Copyright © Bernadette Grove | Year Posted 2016
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Bernadette Grove Poem
Dear lover,
Sweet lover I met someone today,
Many a compliment did he pay,
He asked of my dreams, asked of my history,
I did my best to remain a mystery,
Dear lover his interest shown through his eyes,
Sincerity in his voice unlaced by lies.
No matter the words escaping my lips,
The fact remains and at my heart rips.
He isn't you, and you'll never see,
How much your words mean to me.
Your silence oh, sweet lover of mine,
Is deadly and bitter as turpentine,
So when did I become undeserving of your effort?
Why must I indulge through other male cohorts?
Double edge sword, their words merely pain me,
My heart is silently spoken for you see.
So I close my eyes, stir my drink
And of our story I sit and think.
Sweet lover you deceived me from the start,
With your deeds you stole my heart.
Others spoke sweetly in my ear,
I'd find myself running out of fear.
Because words are words until they are committed,
I trusted your best foot, and was left outwitted.
Touche brilliant lover you win this fight,
I realize now I never wanted a white knight.
All I need is someone to trust,
Where an argument won't end in a bust.
I need to be worth it, whatever it is,
I need to be claimed I want to be "his",
Sweet lover it killed me to be hidden away,
Kept in a closet until the end of the day,
Snuck in through a window to keep questions at bay.
I may take work but you know what they say,
Sweet lover if you love what you do,
Not a day of work will be had by you
Copyright © Bernadette Grove | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Bernadette Grove Poem
you pull my heart strings as I walk away, inadvertently.
I know that I will fade from your conscious, forgotten inevitably.
But a piece of each fades with our friendship, traits become memory,
Although…
this may sound bitter, there is sweetness in the undertone,
because with loss you find yourself, each time slightly less alone,
the love you feel for who that is, will reflect on the world that surrounds,
blasting through the bittersweet, leaving you to live without bounds,
So love ardently, with all of your soul,
and when it’s over you reconstruct the goal,
or make a goal to be able to love and let go as the opportunity allows,
No one says that show of emotion has to end in eternal vows,
Due to the fact that for-nowers, are often disguised in forevers, promises to remain,
to settle down when you are young and restless is an application to clinically insane,
Don’t let these retard your essence of being, you weren’t meant to be contained,
But then...
There is nothing worse than the impending bending, just know it comes with growth,
If you never outgrew relationships, in turn you’d begin to loathe,
The connection that your potential could have outshone, and instead you chose to stay,
You live like that and you will experience grief in a most unbeneficial way,
This is where jealousy, paranoia and even playing fields exist,
Within the confines of “could have done better” or “opportunities missed”,
You cannot grow together, if you never grow apart,
If memories bound in the strings of life, intertwine with those of each heart,
Inevitably their pull will influx in strength leading each to his own end,
So to fall in love all over again is to allow your past to mend,
Inadvertently binding them together until death doth tear them in two,
Only to repeat the process, connect, grown, connect, fall all the way through.
Copyright © Bernadette Grove | Year Posted 2015
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