These are just some lines for someone close, it is good to have a mutual touchstone that brings you both joy because you bring each other joy.
The music is "Sweet Thing" by Van Morrison, I think you know why
ππ§ββοΈπΉπ¦π»βπβπ»π¦πΉπ§ββοΈπ
This Purple Heart Belongs To Us
To Show Our Love When We're Apart
When You Share It Makes Me Joyous
We Know We're In Each Other's Hearts
π»βπβπ»
I Know Your Purple Heart Is Mine
You Know That Mine Belongs To You
When We're Together We Stop Time
And To Each Other We Are True
π»βπβπ»
Those Three Sweet Words Say "I Love You"
They Bring Us Closer Together
My Purple Heart I Send To You
And You Know I'm Yours Forever
π»βπβπ»
You Are My First Thought Each Morning
Your Purple Heart, Does Make Mine Sing
ππ§ββοΈπΉπ¦π»βπβπ»π¦πΉπ§ββοΈπ
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More stories from Mike Singleton - Mikeydred and writers in Poets and other communities.
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A real haiku for the Jazzy GonΓ§alves that you can read about here π©ββ€οΈβπ¨π©ββ€οΈβπ©π©ββ€οΈβπβπ©πππ¨ββ€οΈβπ¨ It's Snowing, It's Cold Let's See How Close We Can Be Under The Covers π©ββ€οΈβπ¨π©ββ€οΈβπ©π©ββ€οΈβπβπ©πππ¨ββ€οΈβπ¨
By Mike Singleton - Mikeydred3 months ago in Poets
Unborn
Sitting in the window sill of her bedroom, staring out into the darkness of the world, feeling the emptiness arise, as the worldβs echoes filled with chaos typically distract her mind, though tonight is silent. Sitting in silence for once feels beyond agonizing. The silence once brought peace. How can this be? Will silence ever feel the same? Staring out into the world. Continuing to grieve for the soul she will never meet. To leave this world before she took her first breath. Hearts continue to long for her, tears continue to shed. The understanding of being happy one moment, with a realization striking the next that her child will never experience joy. She will never have her first smile, oh her smile would have been alluring. To know her laughter will never be heard, one of the hardest concepts to accept. The aching strengthens knowing to never see her eyes open for the first time, to never watch her take her first breath, her first steps, or to hear her first cry. To know packing her lunch for her first day of school is no longer a possibility. To know being there for her first heartbreak will never happen. Her heart continues to fill with a bursting ache of the memories they will never share. The moments they will never experience. Her motherβs heart remains filled with unbearable emotions, overflowing out of her eyes, creating a lump within her throat. The aching continues, trying to find words to express the pain, though there are no words precious enough to begin to describe what the loss of her life brings. Scarcely hoping she felt each beat of her motherβsβ heart, that still continues to hold love for her soul. What happened cannot be made right, her loss cannot be restored. There is no beauty within their story. The reality of grieving her is far different from any loss. She doesnβt need solutions, she doesnβt need to move on from her childβs possibilities. She continues to acknowledge it, remembering who she could have been. The image of her child in her hands, remains, replaying as if it were a steady pulse. The painful truth is certain moments cannot be rectified, as they can only be carried. She will continue to carry her childβs possibilities throughout her life. She will continue to hold a special love within her soul. Often unsure of which pain is worse, the shock of what happened or the unknown.
By May Tropeano4 days ago in Poets
Is Personal Agency Only for the Young?
I am angry. This week I was Threading through Threads and came across a post from a woman that said, among other things: "How can I make my mother stop coloring her hair and just go grey? She's 62 and not fooling anyone; she and her friends are old and it's time that she acts her age."
By Judey Kalchik 4 days ago in Viva
Comments (5)
Awww, this poem was a Purple Wonder! I loved it so much!
Interesting. Here a purple heart means "wounded in action" while you use it as an enduring sign of love. How appropriate, I find myself thinking, when nothing can be more wounding to us than love & nothing could be more true to who we are or what we would be willing to endure for it.
Beautiful words, Mike! (As always!) I'm a bit behind on reading but I'll try to catch up with more of your amazing work :)
Beautiful Mike that heart if in my favorite color and beats along with your poem,
Lovely, Mike. Sweet and beautiful ππ