Lost in the middle of subdued
cries of a trumpet and her sax
is a call to end the silence; an
upfront plea at the return of a
voice, bringing back sonnets
and songs of memories lasting
long past the falling of the sun.
Scrambled between the beats
of hope and lasting destruction
lays my final attempt at a last
minute redemption to hold you
in my arms for one final dance.
she had become broken
fragments of hope and
insecurities, reflecting off
the glass of whiskey and
rocks – promising herself
she was always the fighter,
staying rooted in her desires,
yet, with every passing sun
she was breaking off more
pieces of logic and reason,
trailing shards of debris and
rubble in her wake, with only
bits of glass left distressed
without a reflection to hold.
Past the reflections
of the window pane,
billowing slightly in
the soften breezes of
the neighboring trees,
harboring heart aches
in disguises of hope
hardened with truth;
past the melodies of
the wildflowers long
ago blooming on the
horizon, with laughter
circling like butterflies
in early June, there is
a moment trapped in
the smile of a memory,
recaptured with every
look out my window,
to the glory days of
you and I – back when
there was still such a
thing to look back on;
past the reflections of
regrets and what ifs.
without a cloud in the sky,
and with the succession of
leaves falling to a melody
that I couldn’t hear, I had no
place to hide my darkness;
standing in sunlight, drying
up from the absence of lost
promises, I was restless in
my preparations for a shift
in the seasons, believing in
change, and that soon I’d
have my own place to hide.
Caught between lifestyles
of silence or whispers gently
rocking me to sleep, I was
burdened with decisions that
I had no control over – I was a
puppet playing with my own
strings, tugging and pulling,
alone with my thoughts in a
constant contemplation if the
only decision I had left in my
pocket was to allow the strings
to break. I didn’t want to flee,
it wasn’t in my nature, but my
wrists were burning from the
weight, and I was in need of
some comfort – I just didn’t
know if I could still rely on
you to be the one to save me.
I saw you everywhere I looked,
from the carvings of the base of
the trees to the butterflies floating
from wildflower to wildflower,
knowing that they had the exact
same spirit I came to love, in you.
I saw you in the sun coming in
through the tree line, bouncing
reflections off the boulders and
helping guide my path. You are
whispering in the breeze, calling
out hope, because that is the only
thing I have left to hold onto; and
I felt you in the breeze as I reached
the top of the summit, knowing you
were wrapping yourself around me.
I still see you in everything, I only
wonder where you still find me.
With two heartbeats past
three in the morning, when
even the crickets are trying to
rest and the trees are refusing
to budge in the light whistling
breeze of the moon and stars,
when the cold floorboards are
creaking beneath my footsteps,
with the gentle soothing sounds
of whispers at my touch – I am
alone with the choices you had
made, without a second notice
to the sound of my heartbeat,
shifting amongst the silence in
a city that only seems to sleep
when thoughts become burdens.
We were alternating
writing chapters of our
story; yours were always
longer, while I was rushing
to get to the finish, trying to
figure out how it all ends, and
you were right – I was missing
all of the little things, details on
the page, not stopping to take a
breath with every little change
in verse. You said it was time
for us to rewrite our chapters
separately, and then you left.
I hadn’t any idea on how to
start, except to take a deep
breath, and to try detailing
out every memory that I
was missing out on in
your absence – filling
pages with chapters
of what I hoped
would turn into
a new middle,
not a fantasy
about our
ending.
It was a wave of uncertainty
flooding my thoughts and my
desires past the blue ink stains
littering the page in repetition
to a beat I’d only heard when I
laid my head against your chest;
it was only an idea, catapulted
into reasoning as I placed every
effort into twisting and bending
the contours of the words, losing
their voice as I transformed them
into lyrics of a song, sung only by
the two of us, as it forgot the only
question that it had belonged to.
After days on end, searching for an
explanation to the blue pen marks
at my whim, I have found solace
in the only truth at my disposal –
I am exhausted from missing you.
Your name has become synonymous
with silence, so I shout either out
towards the heavens, hoping for
three sparks of lightning, perhaps a
lone thunderstorm following the rain,
dropping down in smiles and buckets,
washing away memories drenched
in debris, so I can write soundly in
the midst of my blue inked dreams.
Storylines in Verse 