What is this curse upon my heart

What is this curse upon my heart,
that plants the seeds where loves do grow,
then rents all loves to me apart?

I know that endings stop each start,
each time, all times.  I want to know,
what is this curse upon my heart?

I've paid for each one à la carte,
unfinished meals, for it's renown:
It rents all loves to me apart,

and thus compels me to compart,
and fall to pieces, no more known.
What is this curse upon my heart?

So every love's compelled to part,
and melt my once-warm flesh to bone?
What rents all loves to me apart,

turns sweetness to a horrid tart?
It is my fate to die alone.
What is this curse upon my heart,
that rents all loves to me apart?

(C)2019, Christos Rigakos

This bus stop, filthied by a thousand shoes

This bus stop, filthied by a thousand shoes
of people walking in, and through, and out--
It is my heart, that pays some unknown dues,

as every little gain I surely lose,
and wonder why they even come about
this bus stop.  Filthied by a thousand shoes,

I often scribe my grief in staves of Blues,
my lyrics harsh, my wails, crescendo'd, shout:
"It is my heart that pays some unknown dues."

This mystery affords me little clues
arranged as jigsaw pieces strewn about
this bus stop, filthied by a thousand shoes.

Yet broken hearts make minds of little use,
a fog-cloaked worthless land, dry-parched from drought--
it is my heart.  I pay some unknown dues,

for sins unsure which God will not excuse,
and so my heart's a terminal throughout
this bus stop, filthied by a thousand shoes--
It is my heart, that pays some unknown dues.

(C)2019, Christos Rigakos