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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Love in September

I have known love so great
the cataclysms of forever
could not contain it,
I would dissolve into purity
before I forgot.
I cry at the beauty
and sadness of it,
more hungry
than any starvation.
Heavier than a star
burning in the hand.

No one knows the silence
I endured,
the emptiness of its hope.
Such love has never left,
never dimmed.
It sails to the horizon
without me,
not seeing how I waved,
sat on the beach
and counted waves,
crashing like children from the surf.

How I saw faces in the crowd,
looking off,
disappearing,
as if they’re ghosts.
Why in September
does this come to me?
As if love
turned to pink
on cheeks wanting to be kissed,
smiles opening like flowers,
blossoming in my heart,
when the air is cool

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