While the sun bids farewell,
descending behind the skyline
of mountaintops, seducing the
dreamers while gently laying
their hearts to rest and tracing
the foothills in lazy patterns of
their minds, I am entranced by
another day – we, the dreamers,
wanderers, soul searchers of the
heavens, continue each day with
a dance of seduction led by the
sun and ending with the moon.
The skies of winter
have my name written
in pink and gray muted
hues, as though we had
been close friends once,
bonded together by the
falling snow within small
crevices of concrete and
truths, where the slightest
whistle was calling upon
the winds to join us – the
skies of winter are a lost
friend, long forgotten in
the blinding lights of the
holidays, buried inside a
forthcoming of snow as
though that were all they
had left to share with us.
In the darkest mornings
of early winter, when the
sun cannot separate from
the moon, and when I am
wrapped inside your arms
willing the day to continue
on with us blissfully in an
embrace, as though we do
not have responsibilities or
matters at hand not just of
the heart – those mornings
I am thankful for, those are
our little slices of imperfect
perfections, bound tightly as
the love of the sun and moon.
As the light began to fall
against the unseen side of
mountains, where dreams
are laid to rest, and where
promises are sprouting up
like trees, I buried my own
heart; longing for the height
to kiss the moon each night,
with the gentle songs of the
morning birds taking shelter
by my roots, I was fading by
the mountainside with only
hope and spare change, and
somehow that was enough.
Storylines in Verse 