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Owain Glyn


PickPockets.


When you first put your arms around me,
I could feel the warmth of you.
I could trace the beat of your heart.
When your lips brushed mine,
And you smiled,
I was hypnotized, mesmerized.
When you turned and left,
I had no idea what I'd done wrong,
You were lost in the throng.
It was only then, I realized,
That your thin, cold, razor,
Had cut the strings of my heart,
That you had stolen it.
What value could it have been to you? ?
Then, I learned that you keep hearts as trophies.
I should tell you,
That while you were busy,
I secreted your heart,
In my pocket.
It now sits on a plinth, in my display cabinet.
Would you like to meet?
On a mist dressed bridge,
Early one morning?
Where, like guilty governments,
We can make an exchange? ? .....
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn

Submitted: Monday, June 03, 2013
Edited: Friday, August 02, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

The theft of hearts.

Comments about this poem (PickPockets. by Owain Glyn )

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  • Freshman - 2,381 Points Diane Hine (6/14/2013 7:37:00 AM)

    Those cold hearts need to be returned to their rightful owners. Fascinating and original approach to a familiar theme. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 134 Points Danny Draper (6/11/2013 5:15:00 PM)

    Love does seem like the work of spies at times, different agendas and different sides, but when it is lime the movie Mr and Mrs Smith, then it is too good. I wonder if they ever met on that bridge and noticed beneath in the matte silk silence, two ships passing with nonchalant disregard. (Report) Reply

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