Fortress

We wish the fragile
fortress of our heart
to be unassailable
when it is already
damaged.

When it is whole
we throw the doors
open, inviting
the ruin and destruction.

Only in our dreams
of unfailing love
do the blue eyes

never stray, and
defenses never

fall.

Fortress

Fortress (Photo credit: p_valdivieso)

Written for the Sunday Scribblings ‘fortress’ prompt and the Carry on Tuesday ‘Only in our dreams’ prompt.

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15 Comments

Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts

15 responses to “Fortress

  1. Love the idea of throwing the doors of our hearts open. Great.

  2. Yet, if it were truly unassailable and indivisible against the ruin, I wonder if there would be much room for growth. Our hearts are full of treasure.

  3. It is definitely ‘a fragile fortress” great write

  4. zanzinece

    Well put. Yes, we’re doomed…and alternately saved by the heart (as Archna mentions, in so many words!).

  5. KB

    Beautiful. My COT is up too.

  6. A Walk In My Heart

    Love is unpredictable – some brings us joy and some brings us sorrow. But to be able to open your heart and love again takes great faith. A thought provoking poetry.

  7. How true. We heal only to love again, and break again. Nicely wordled.

  8. I like this. Great write!

  9. And yet, throwing those doors wide open is, the only way to really love, isn’t it.
    Great write.

  10. Oh, the pain and woe we let ourselves in for when those doors swing open wide! Love demands that we let the other inside to decorate the walls of our heart or lay it to ruin. Great work on the prompt!

  11. the signs of one that has opened a heart to world and had it jabbed and poked… but remember this …only with an open heart can one find love and peace…peace my friend

  12. Laurie Kolp

    I do think it’s possible for dreams to come true… = )

  13. So true that when we are vulnerable we are inviting ruin and destruction, but to do it any other way is to retreat from life.

  14. rosemary mint

    Perfect. The whole thing.

    So what of brown eyes?

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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