Lonely Hearts Embers

by Pat Fitzgerald, posted in Poetry

I have been working on my love poetry and hoping that they improve as it were. But the end result for me will be how readers take to the poetry and of course how they react to todays poem. But this is my hope, yet poetry flows like a river from the creative juices that are permitted to become active as it were.

In other words I wandered through words to find the correct route to combine all into a love poem of sorts. Yet there exists Lonely and lost of heart who wander about often unseen and unnoticed. Same goes as it were in real life, the lonely and lost hearts wander in our midst unseen or unnoticed by all.

There is very little that I could add to a post that would make it easier to further explain this poem. There is a play with words to help tie the poem together and I have hoped that it would improve the readers experience. But I do hope that folks understand this poem and further show to you that the lonely are not exiles as it were, BUT they await a time when their hearts unite with one that brings them from that lost world.

Having said all of this, I hope that you will enjoy this poem:

Photo by Andrew Neel on Pexels.com

(Photo subject to Copyrite of those who owns such art. My thanks to them.)

Lonely Hearts Embers



With the beats of a lonely heart despair,
And the pining of a soul lost somewhere.
Or where a broken heart weeps in silence,
Yet Souls wander waiting to convince.


The lonely wanderers where they belong,
But hearts alone withstand without a song.
Birds of the air find companions with ease,
Their songs carry in the breeze and the trees.


Even lost prophets of doom ne’er foretold,
Of hearts still lost in despair there to hold. 
As legends will rise in this game of love,
When it’s push or shove, it comes from above.


Who cares for the lonely when love does strike,
On a hike through mountains high to dislike.
Yet encased in fountains of disbelief,
Awaiting a time to lost love’s brief.


The fountain of love awaits all lost hearts,
But the lonely wander unwanted parts.
Feeble words does nothing new, used in jest,
Whilst lonely hearts wander this world at best.




© Pat Fitzgerald 2023

Thank you for reading this post. I hope that you leave this page with something worth your visit. Poetry is a journey that takes us on roads that imagination will take us onwards.

Or such is what I believe and using my imagination that would also help create some of my poetry. If you wish to comment on any of my poetry I welcome such with open heart and mind.

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6 thoughts on “Lonely Hearts Embers”

  3. Fantastic work and what a breeze. Thank you.

    River No Sound

    Each evening eager,

    he followed the flow,

    the river repeating

    what words couldn’t know.

    04:36

    And followed by grief,

    a shore would not show,

    yet held in belief –

    tears led to no more,

    once sunk silence in her call.

    04:39

    Seasons sent storms,

    swelling strength unseen,

    A rhythm ran through it,

    steady and clean.

    All winds –

    storm weathers –

    all of cold cloud –

    All brings sun shivers – rays –

    would find no ground.

    04:41

    No bell nor bird

    reached his waiting ear,

    No spoken comfort to

    draw him near.

    No tell –

    none heard,

    nor would as none was –

    all world – was

    not at all,

    meaning meant fall.

    Yet something stirred

    into silence fell –

    a gentle pull first –

    fear would fade as well.

    Like rivers that listen

    not by ear but by land,

    He learned how to feel

    what none could command.

    Currents of calm,

    unvoiced yet sure,

    Held him in motion,

    patient and pure.

    When waters arose,

    running rivers from clouds –

    banks felt force with no sound,

    as sky lay heavy earth bound.

    Not loud –

    nor named,

    yet deep sunk wide,

    A shape into presence –

    moving the tide.

    All winds passed on,

    left no sound to plead,

    Yet carried a promise –

    ashore would it lead.

    And birds bore bright,

    against air made known

    in fight, Truths found –

    torn to call tears heavy

    in eyelid fall.

    Once heavy heart was in

    lifted light – for until,

    drawn in deep –

    sunken will became still.

    Like faith,

    it flowed without

    form or sound,

    Yet shaped his steps –

    kept them to be found.

    Ne’er hearing –

    he heard what stillness gave –

    not sound, but

    a summons steady and

    brave.

    And onward he walked

    through silence and moons,

    Carried by currents

    older than tunes.

    Your Friend

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