Mon cœur qui bat

My heart detonates on the page
A thousand red paper pieces explode
Spewing in every direction
I collect them preciously, meticulously
Until I finally stow them away
In their hiding place
They are too raw, too blatantly red
Like a cache of roses blooming behind a locked gate
Unbothered, I begin again
Bleeding letters onto a once white sheet
Perhaps they will arrange themselves in your language
Something subtle so some slumbering heart
Awakes and finally understands
And careful fingers can help me pick up the pieces
When the page fills up again

3 thoughts on “Mon cœur qui bat”

  1. Somewhere inside me, you left me a garden
    That cannot wilt or decay.
    Somehow, though, I don’t feel empty.
    I just feel grateful for the rose path you built along the way.

    1. In the darkness,
      In the stillness before the morning dew,
      In a path alive with vivid blooms;
      That is where I will wait for you.

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