Black Poetry : Soldier of Past Loves

[Keita Kenyatta]

I never intended from the very start,
to give something so precious as the core of my heart.
But I've done it, not once but three times or more,
just to watch my heart get dragged on the flooor.
Each time I said; can this be for real?...
blind to the facts and blind to the deal.
I've picked up myself like a boxer in the ring,
and lied that the blows didn't really mean a thing.

Round Two left me like a baby with a rattle,
with scars on my soul like a soldier in battle.
I convinced myself it was time to dismount,
when reality said I was down for the count.
I smiled with my friends but my pain I concealed,
moved on to another taking no time to heal.

Round Three was a doozy and a crying disgrace,
with my heart on the canvas lying flat on my face.
What did I want, what was I seeking to achieve,
moving through love with my heart on my sleeve?
Was I a masochist, a fool or simply just the blame,
for the scars, the darkness and all of the rain?
The rain that poured from my very own eyes,
attached to a heart that I could not disguise.

Round Four should have told me what it was all about,
I thought I was dazed when I was knocked the hell out!
I let my heart get me in trouble again...
only to lose what I thought I could win.
I've dodged emotional hatchets, bullets and more,
been stitched from the inside, done bled on the floor.

Ding ding, round five, is it a fight or is it love?,
and why won't somebody take off these darn gloves!?
I'm damaged, I'm hurt and it's really a darn shame,
to know the price of love could cause me so much pain.
I'm a soldier of past loves and the battle has been drawn,
and now I wonder how it was that I could carry on.


Copyright 2014
Keita Kenyatta