Hearts: Whole and Broken — Poetry Collection
By Graham Hartley
The Redwood Door
The redwood door sits in front of us,
surrounded by darkness in every direction.
We ponder the void
but get rejected by the nothingness.
The only light comes
from a single bulb
that swings with a soft, rustic squeak
as if trying to warn us.
The door is a sawdusty red
with a open hold where a handle had been.
Scorch marks darken the wood
while runic carvings cover
the door as if to tell a story.
If anyone alive could still understand
this door it would say
“Please, I just need a little love.”
Slow Burn
A soft candle burns
in the center of the room.
It smells of cinnamon and promises,
and its slow drip of wax creates a pattern
that my nostalgia has copyrighted.
We set our dinner with a small tablecloth
leaving its mahogany corners exposed,
scratches and scrapes mark
where a child’s fork had mimicked Excalibur.
A sizzling simmer sounds from the stove
signaling soon to be silence.
The oil’s voice quiets as I plate our next 30 minutes.
The meal cooked itself,
yet I am thankful for the time together.
We’ve been here for a minute.
I don’t mind a slow burn.
Venom
Memories of you course through my veins like venom.
They singe my skin and scald my bliss.
Rage hidden by denim,
Ingested via kiss.
With rattlesnake’s charm you snuck past my guard.
I tried to wall you out, to only wall you in.
Stuck inside my heart I masquerade,
Until the day I offer myself aid.
“Please let me go” I fight back tears.
Your words cut into my soul; it tears.
A slow poison that forces me to question reality.
Falsehood love on a technicality.
Liquor spit,
Fang under lip,
Inky kiss,
Falling between venom and abyss.
Unrequited
I stay quiet.
Always quiet.
It’s too quiet.
Lines not quite right,
my love unrequited,
knighted into loneliness.
My world, a void.
Void of starlight,
My mind a blight,
It holds me too tight.
Always tight.
My heart is tight.
It squeezes.
Bruises
My heart has always told me to go with the flow.
When something is right
in the world, I’ll know.
So, when we grow apart
my behavior is sown sure into my soul.
The farther you are from me,
the grander the urge to sacrifice
my only twenty as bus fare,
just to get back to you.
I wish to be frozen in your amber eyes
only to prove to myself
that I could never live without you.
Words are difficult to choose,
even more so when the topic
is so unfathomably mystical
that reciting the wrong sonnet
would be a disservice.
So please, if I ever grip your hand too tight,
know that the bruises
between my fingers
reignite my life
when you are away.
Old Love
The swing rusted by age
sings a soft hymn
as we rock back and forth.
Hands interlaced
We reminisce on the fun of our earlier years.
You squeeze a little tighter
and my breath catches,
I still could never get used to your touch.
On a whim I pull your hand
and drag you down towards the woods
that trace our property lines.
We throw ourselves into a lake of laughter,
forever stained by the ink of our future.
I could never get tired of you.
About the Author
Hello friends, my name is Graham Hartley and my pronouns are he/him/his. I am a student at Depauw University and some of my personal hobbies include playing the Handpan and writing poetry. I love competing in poetry slams and I cannot wait to share some of my pieces with all of you, I hope you enjoy it! Peace and Love.
