I Honestly Love You

Poem By Michael Buhagiar

If this vow of affection is simply true
Don’t tell me why you had to speak it:
A spell was settling and you had to break it,
I know, for it would chill and entomb you.

A fate some ghost from your past was weaving,
Her lips once offered, then snatched away
Perhaps…A warmth whose feeling is believing,
That you sensed, before all, in the light of day.

No… like driftwood washed to an island
Where thick-rooted green sets free the bough,
You suffer in silence, and sing to me, now,
A lament for a time undead, at hand.

For truth, like poetry, must come from the heart,
As honest as tears that slip to the floor,
As plain to the sense as Cupid’s dart.
I hear truth’s beat, a wounded roar

That floods through your transparent art
To reach where waters surge and pore:
With open arms, and with knowing heart,
From here to forever, I come to your shore.

In memoriam Peter Allen

Comments about I Honestly Love You

It is a very touching and melancholic love poem. It evokes some many images and memories...Love that is true will never die, no matter what happens.Sometimes, though, it brings suffering and longing when our beloved one is not with us...Indeed a very beautiful poem.
Loved this Michael. Wasn't Peter once married to Liza Minnelli? Really fantastic write as is your rewrite on Jim Morrison! I finally got to read it1 You are amazing! Theo

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Other poems of BUHAGIAR

Before I Met You

Spring would come with shafts of light
To make love to dark earth in the morning dew,
But the frost would bite too deep at night
And the beds were all bare, before I met you.

Rider On The Storm (Homage To Jim Morrison)

Adios to the lands and great house, Caballero,
A kiss for the Lady in White and your friends,
For you ride out to meet the wild Toronegro
Pounding the plain, and the world on you depends.

Sadness Of The Moon (Tristesse De La Lune) : Translation

A more langorous moon is dreaming this night:
Like a beauty on several cushions reposing
Who caresses with a hand discreet and light
The contour of her breasts before the closing

A Look

Those eyes so black; that gaze so blank.
Black like witching moons her eyes
When stars burn the night with lonely cries,
That through foam to the floor of my ocean sank.

Homage To Eric Clapton

A seed once fell onto English terrain
Where wars had thicked the soil with much blood;
And its roots struck deep into Satan’s brain
On the side where feeling and melody bud.

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The tickets collected with an hour to spare,
We stopped by the Mozart Café in a shell
On the water, and took in the drinkers and rare
Miasma of fresh-roasted coffee bean smell.