At the turn of gold,
when the leaves are
sprouting in greens
and the purples are
splattered about, like
a synchronized feast
of celebrations fit for
a king – we became
lighter than air, as we
had danced among the
notes of spring, set to
be awakened, filling
laughs with dreams of
gold and greens, and
dancing until the dawn.
I had not felt the gentle
stroke of a pen between
my fingers in an almost
near cycle of the moon,
back when I was trying
to capture your beauty
in lyrical rhythms from
my heart, to have and to
hold, as though I could
actually cage part of you;
I had failed words when I
failed you – left to gravel
between the ink stains for
my final second chance at
a happy ending with you.
Hidden behind the shadows
where the night and sun meet,
past the lightly traced outline
of the horizon, where the eyes
play tricks of love and deceit,
are the fallen dreams we had
laid to rest, nestled inside the
buried limits we could not see;
where once dreams had been
kissed twice by daylight on the
horizon, growing in vibrancy,
are now forgotten by the fall of
dusk, left in withered remains,
bounded, begging to be set free.
Storylines in Verse 