I had been reciting
those verses of hope
in memory for so long
that lighting the starch
edges and setting them
aflame wasn’t enough
to rid my methods of
repeat; I had become
falling ashes in unison,
covering the truths I
wasn’t willing to learn
while still hearing the
constant repetition of
hope from the distance,
bouncing off the echoes
of our leftover debris.
Four a.m. comes
roaring through
my dreams, waking
up the sounds and
feeding on the
silence, spouting
promises and lies
on endless repeat
until I can’t
decipher in which
direction the sun
will come up; I
am in a trance on
autopilot, with
my heart in the
heavens, waiting
for my clearance
to come down.
This year for your birthday,
I had wished to grab hold
of the stars, sewing them
together, creating a blanket
to warm you on the coldest
of nights, seeing as you no
longer seek out my embrace,
or climb to the top of the
mountains west past Boulder,
standing on the peak picking
enough of the clouds to make
a pillow for you to fall fast
asleep, seeing as you haven’t
my arms to rock you soundly,
or fill a pool with waters
from Bermuda, so if ever you
are feeling lost, you’ll have
an escape to swim to when you
think you can’t still come to me;
but sadly, I have only my mere
words, and I shall have to
hope it’ll be enough to convey
all the thoughts I haven’t yet
said, past – happy birthday.
Like a firework sparking
the July sky, I sent out
love and rubble up to the
heavens in colors of once
sought after desire, with
splashes inside swirls of
harmonious release, in an
attempt at pining promise
into each new droplet of
the upcoming autumn rain.
Let’s just ride; let us
hop in a car and ride.
Drive west through the
mountains and when we
get to the top shout out
all of our insecurities and
see where they fall, for
nothing can evoke our
fears once we own them.
We can continue driving
until we run out of road,
stopping in the sand and
kicking off our shoes as
we run into the waters,
drowning the words that
we have chosen to keep
silent, and when the moon
has set we’ll start all over
again, heading east past
the plains, or south into
the deserts – wherever
you want my dear, and
that’s the beauty of it all,
let’s just hop in and ride.
The arrival of the storm
clouds, harboring darkness
in previous defeat, was my
only inclination that an
enemy of current state,
yet friend from long ago,
was making their way back
into my presence with a
stroke of hand and only
egos and lies following
in their wake – I was so
certain escaping the past
was easy, but only when it
no longer wants to be found.
if I had a dream to risk
to come true, I’d spend
my night dancing under
the moonlight with you,
two hours past midnight
holding each other close,
we’d be laughing until the
morning light rose, reliving
our first date with twenty
questions and promises
foretold, foregoing the
dancing for blankets in
the cold, we’d have just
one night to allow our
imaginations to roam,
before separately we
each ventured home.
I spent yesterday in
silence, trying to
escape the repetition
of your name on my lips,
fleeing from my feeble
attempts at capturing
your beauty into verse;
yet even with a lack of
words, they circled
around my head, creating
visions of your laugh
reflecting off of the
outskirts of the light of
the moon, and I awakened
to a new kind of silent
poetry, and I was in love.
with a push to the winds
you are pushing back,
fighting for the control
I never once let you have;
becoming a master in a
game built for two, being
played by us three, and
I am at a loss as to what
the rules are anymore.
all I am capable of doing
is to keep pushing, hoping
that you’ll continue to push
back, and to fear the day
when you no longer do.
how will you decipher when
my words have shifted from
you to another? will you notice
when I stop mentioning your
eyelashes and how free they
make your spirit, or the rosy
tint of your cheeks as you
laugh to the heavens while
sipping on Jameson rocks?
I suppose it shouldn’t matter;
if you can continue seeing
yourself in my words, then at
least you still see yourself in
my heart, thinking of us too.
Storylines in Verse 