A Harvest From a Lonely Heart
Memories and love walk hand in hand between two hearts
I remember well a lovely girl who came and stole my heart she said "I love you, but I cantaloupe." the honeydew of her lips and her passion still endures
A harvest from the lonely heart.
There are many times I sneak into my gardens of before under pale but glowing moonbeams in the wee hours of mourn.
Searching only for some sustenance that just might strengthen me in my most barren times when all my fields of dreams lie fallow.
immersing both my face and soul within the center of bittersweet melon of choly, till I'm lost in reverie never hesitating to spit out the bitter seeds of discontent while nibbling at the softness of delicious memories . Though they are often tinged with darker rinds and hardened edge like bruised half circles grief so often plants beneath my eyes. I have split the fruits of "was" that from my life took their great falls, to pick out the most succulent of pieces left within, to carry me ever onwards through the present ...towards tomorrow, I remember well a lovely girl who came and stole my heart she said "I love you, but I cantaloupe." the honeydew of her lips and her passion still endures as pungent on my tongue even today. Thus watermelancholy leaks from corners of my eyes and dribbles down my cheeks like juices quenching, yet still I'm knocking hard sometimes upon that thickened skin of long past harvests, waiting for my grasp. Once held I feel it's heft and all it's weight within my heart still longing for the ripeness of that moment encased by time in dappled greens of envy. Come sit and share a piece or two with me plucked from before let it curl around your face and wet your cheeks, like commas that will bring us to a pause as we delight in sugared drops of love ..... That bloomed upon the vine stems long since plucked and spit seeds of hope into some fertile thoughts where one day some new patch perhaps will grow of watermelancholy we'll all know. It's a lovely summer's afternoon that rests upon the cusp of chill November's gray and dampest days Take some big bites you can savor from this scent-a-mental place fill your soul with sweet nostalgia's from long lost loves it's fruits embrace.
© 2009 Matthew Frederick Blowers III