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.
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.
I struck a match to call
in a favor, watching and
waiting as the smoke
billowed from the tips of
my fingers, heightening
in ashes and the cherry –
patience was never my
friend, as I longed for
time to escape me in
silence as I struck one
more match, hoping for
my luck to finally change.
My words weren’t enough
so I stopped speaking them,
allowing them to burn at
the corners and crumble
in their own ashes, with
embers to chant past the
hurt and confusion, while
placing all bets on time
with only chance to spare.
So there I stood on the
slope of dating someone
else, but not quite ready
to leave the sunset behind;
looking westwards towards
beauty yet silence, while
hearing voices of moving on
at my back – I heard it all,
I just wasn’t listening as
I stood still, baiting the
sun to move without my
noticing, hoping without
hope it’d see and shine
light on me once again.
I am at my saddest knowing
that listening to others opinion
is still ruled in favor of following
your own heart; not being able to
love or laugh beyond memories
cast twice in words and written
in the shadows of the moon.
We have nothing left but time to
fix, yet unless these words are
whispered by another they are no
longer truth, but rapid successions
of a lonely, still beating heart.
For months I was carrying a
gram of hope around my heart,
telling myself that I was
patient enough to wait for you
to realize where your home
truly lay, between comfort and
complexity, growing rustic at
the edges with time and wild
fires blazing up in passion –
but those are not realizations
forming on your lips as we
finally take that dive and
converse back like we used to.
I am kept at a distance, with
two smiles and a half shrug,
for your words are telling me
never again, or ever truly was.
Believe me sweets, this isn’t
the truth that I was hoping
would become our end, but I
have listened to your sonnets
growing out beyond the waters;
I shall drop all hope the
next time that it rains.
In a brush of silence
painted on your sleeve,
fraying at the seems
with a hem of honesty
mixed with tainted chaos –
It is my favorite blend
of colors, discreetly
and artistically crafted
in your scent from
ages drawn with the
curtains, only coming
through with the days
past early September.
I am eager for the shade
to return, wrapping
myself in warmth and
boundaries, bidding the
sun to retreat and for
my days to feel like
home, once again.
I should be listening
to the immense volumes that
your silence is shattering
through my bouts of hope;
I should be able to hear
your voiceless whispers
telling me that we shall
never converse again, yet
I cannot bring myself to
fathom a world where
you and I aren’t able to
do that, where we can’t
move past the absence,
so please just answer me
why – if those are the
only words to fall from
your lips, let them entrap
me in swirls of truth,
dancing around the parade
of lies. I can take it
darling, just whisper them –
I can listen through the
volumes, I can shell out
the hurt, I can. I will.
Storylines in Verse 