revolupo - Poetry and Revolution

3 #RELIGION-15-Pieces of Love

May 15, 2020 David Lee Morgan (davidword) Season 3 Episode 15
revolupo - Poetry and Revolution
3 #RELIGION-15-Pieces of Love
Chapters
revolupo - Poetry and Revolution
3 #RELIGION-15-Pieces of Love
May 15, 2020 Season 3 Episode 15
David Lee Morgan (davidword)

PIECES OF LOVE

Pasted over a neverending blanket of 

White emptiness. Flecks of blood on the snow 

Now I remember, this is the mortal sin I learned about in grade school 

The root of all sin, the temptation that brought Satan from heaven to hell

That made him a kingdom all his own

The blood is frozen and cold

God comes and goes

He nothing owes

 

I think love must be like 

waking up in the morning, and you’re tired, bone weary, and you just want to close 

your eyes, crawl back into the warm bed and sleep. So many pleasant dreams are 

waiting. But your eyes stay open, and your numb fingers button on the scratchy 

clothes. You force down a cup of coffee and a slice of bread. You open the door and 

push out into the wind. It slaps your face, and the tears that come are real tears, 

work tears, giving up your life tears, and there’s a job to do, a wage to earn, a mouth 

to feed that’s not your own. Love comes in the early dawn. It wakes up in the wind. It 

lives and breathes because you don’t close your eyes, you don’t sleep, and the 

mouth you feed is not your own. 

 

But maybe that’s wrong. Too narrow. Too sad. Only showing one half. The tired 

bones. The hungry mouth. What of joy. What of sunlight and blossom. What of the 

life that grows on the other side of the mouth. The child. The parent. The person. 

The whole entire world of another person, another kingdom not your own, and so, 

wonderful and mysterious, fertile with surprise. And here, you are another kind of 

god, giving and receiving, not worshipped, not alone, not frozen, not numb, not hidden under the blanket with your own sterile dreams.

Show Notes

PIECES OF LOVE

Pasted over a neverending blanket of 

White emptiness. Flecks of blood on the snow 

Now I remember, this is the mortal sin I learned about in grade school 

The root of all sin, the temptation that brought Satan from heaven to hell

That made him a kingdom all his own

The blood is frozen and cold

God comes and goes

He nothing owes

 

I think love must be like 

waking up in the morning, and you’re tired, bone weary, and you just want to close 

your eyes, crawl back into the warm bed and sleep. So many pleasant dreams are 

waiting. But your eyes stay open, and your numb fingers button on the scratchy 

clothes. You force down a cup of coffee and a slice of bread. You open the door and 

push out into the wind. It slaps your face, and the tears that come are real tears, 

work tears, giving up your life tears, and there’s a job to do, a wage to earn, a mouth 

to feed that’s not your own. Love comes in the early dawn. It wakes up in the wind. It 

lives and breathes because you don’t close your eyes, you don’t sleep, and the 

mouth you feed is not your own. 

 

But maybe that’s wrong. Too narrow. Too sad. Only showing one half. The tired 

bones. The hungry mouth. What of joy. What of sunlight and blossom. What of the 

life that grows on the other side of the mouth. The child. The parent. The person. 

The whole entire world of another person, another kingdom not your own, and so, 

wonderful and mysterious, fertile with surprise. And here, you are another kind of 

god, giving and receiving, not worshipped, not alone, not frozen, not numb, not hidden under the blanket with your own sterile dreams.