Poem By Charles Bukowski
From the center of my heart, your many lost songs.
From the heart of one single tear.
I am lost like you both apart, one is beating.
Gone from our gentle childhood.
Each wave grew like the sea on us so heavy.
Like me, it is not possible to give it away.
One of my songs does not belong now to me.
However when light is from the moon,
You I found.
And I sitting upright
awake at the evening of rooms.
When one moth goes here and where to high.
The fruit when heavy is to ripe to fall.
I have known of no one like you of that.
Gentle the thorn the red rose never picked.
You are seen healing the hearts of them all.