Ecstatic Love Poet in Modern Times

Love is dangerous

these days

Not like it is in a poem 

More like a gun

with every chamber loaded 

It’s not, odds are it won’t kill me

If you point it at someone

and pull the trigger,

they will bleed out in the street

Not like it is in poetry 

when it just means

they fall for you

I don’t know

if that made sense

I am out

of my element

The muse returned

to my doorstep

A knock, knock, knock 

in the middle

of the afternoon 

And at first I thought I heard 

true love softly calling me

but now I know

it was screaming

IF YOU STILL BELIEVE

IN LOVE

STOP KILLING US

Oblivion, Merriam-Webster, and Holding on to Dear Life

One foot 

moves

in front 

of the other

A pattern 

that begs

repeating 

One heart 

(mine)

wondering 

how many

of 8 billion

have typed

“define oblivion”

recently 

I will tell you what it means 

verbatim 

the fact

or condition

of not remembering. 

a state marked by

lack of awareness

or consciousness 

the condition 

or state 

of being forgotten

or unknown 

the state

of being

destroyed 

Before I looked it up

I typed out the word

“humanity”

It hurts

that oblivion

immediately 

came to mind 

It hurts a little less

to know

that if even one

(any one of us)

of 8 billion 

refuses to forget 

everyone will be remembered