I once experienced this with the mate of a friend of mine. I had to love her from a distance…She wanted to return the feelings, and shared that she did but couldn’t.
It was a tough place to be. The contradictions that love can present are so-well advanced in this poem.
A really good read.
j.

it is American culture to glorify murderers and the good looking look at Ted Bundy the same response was given to him they are treated as stars so why not murder?

I don’t understand it either. Surely we can be a little more discerning than famous (or infamous) and attractive.

It’s not the cover that shows a good tale: it’s the way it makes the reader feel when he/she both puts down the book and – whether or not the contents are remembered

A best seller is not necessarily everyone’s choice!

hello dearest poet I paint and write much like you because I have to it is a passion I burn with great write❤

Stop, children, what’s that sound? Everybody look what’s goin’ round.

There are so many reasons to write…I am not exactly sure why I do, I just do. I feel like a conduit
meant to put the words down that come to me…and I have no idea from where they come.
But my pen is my brush…I feel like a Pollack when I write…I just throw the words anywhere they want to go.
And yes, Vol, “we do aim higher than our wings”—
Maybe part of our drive is to write the one great poem that will make us famous, or at least known.
j.

You have always had a way of searching and finding clues that make sense of emotions and what they can do to somebody’s life.. its glorious happiness, its intense admission that being can be lonesome at times.

‘We live in shallow waters, miles from shore
satisfied but afraid of being, afraid of depth.

We always aim higher than our wings’

From start to finish a gentle confession but the finish suggests more – aiming higher is the adventure and eageress of seeing what others tragically miss. Your pen is mightier than most, tis the gold that makes magic, sir.

Am more than ready to review and then offer my thoughts, sir.
‘It is all I can do to not paint
everything red as fire, or yellow as
a bobcat’s eye because the world
might end in Ragnarök after all,
we the people buried under sparkles
of glacial aquamarine, bleak as dreams.’

From start to final word, the above is a brilliant canvas, Vol