This Thing Called Love
by Chima Christopher
I grow weary of talking
Perhaps it's true what they say
Delicate flowers have their own language
Put your head to my chest my dear,
there is only music here
Ask questions of this orchestra
I do not promise you the truth
I promise you my heart
I cannot feel your fear,
A long time ago,
like Cain from the curse of his God
I ran
I found home by a river,
under the moon
lying next to a girl I loved
I'm dazed at the audacity of science
the things it dares to call inanimate
I long to be like the river
or the moon
Lifeless, yet eternal...
This thing called living
I do not know how to do it
Perhaps it's true what they say
Delicate flowers have their own language
Put your head to my chest my dear,
there is only music here
Ask questions of this orchestra
I do not promise you the truth
I promise you my heart
I cannot feel your fear,
A long time ago,
like Cain from the curse of his God
I ran
I found home by a river,
under the moon
lying next to a girl I loved
I'm dazed at the audacity of science
the things it dares to call inanimate
I long to be like the river
or the moon
Lifeless, yet eternal...
This thing called living
I do not know how to do it
Chima Christopher is Nigerian and has walked this planet for 24 years. His poetry has been featured in The African Writers Review, Afritondo, and The Kalahari Review. He dreams of owning real estate on the moon and listens to Taylor Swift every chance he gets. You can follow him on Twitter and on Medium @smithceec.