You had one question,
wrapped around the idea
of one little verse, a slight
symphony of the heart, in
which you and I had once
been dancers, gracefully
swaying to the tempos of
love – you had asked, and
I said yes, with the rapid
beating of our hearts as we
took our final bow as mere
lovers, moving on into the
world as fiancés; forever
dancers, in this life of love.
As the stars shoot past
lone survivors making
wishes beyond longing
for a dream, I recall the
gentleness of the lonely,
when solitude was more
than just a single number,
curled up in satisfaction
of something more, with
possibilities of the infinite
bound inside the realities
of one plus one equaling
more than just you and me,
where all the mathematics
blended into nothingness
until the stars shooting past
carried more than just wishes
of a change in the numbers.
I will chase you into tomorrow
as midnight falls onto a lonely
hour, where words are falling
like change onto the pavements,
with the whispers of newly cast
resolutions echoing against the
alleyways bound to be lost by
sunrise – I will follow you into
the new year, where memories
are disregarded as unnecessary
change, and change is viewed as
successfully winning the lottery;
it’s the realm of new possibilities
or perhaps just any other day, but
no matter what happens, I’ll still
be by your side, come what may.
Life was beginning again
with the changing of crisp
autumn air and the delicate
scattering of leaves falling
to the warmest of embraces;
where our hands sought each
other more frequently, found
steady with the touch of love,
where our hearts beat faster,
lighting the stars on fire, and
where love was as delicate as
the changing leaves, together
we strolled the days hand in
hand, reliving fall and in love.
We had taken a subtle walk,
watching the leaves die gently,
in the softest light of the trees,
feeling the wind kiss our backs
as we strolled on, counting the
minutes and days pass before
our eyes as summer fell to fall,
autumn blowing into the early
stages of winter, and the trees
growing bare, taking root in the
season, as we continued to walk
on, wandering and left waiting;
always waiting as time changed,
masked behind death and growth
as we all continued on, walking
and never stopping to take notice.
As the last page turns,
the leaves begin to fall,
replacing chapters and
metaphors for the crisp
air of autumn, reds and
oranges left dangling on
the branches as the story
lingers, gently lulling us
into a smooth transition,
where nights are burning
pages of our histories in
the flames, and we warm
ourselves inside memories,
counting stars and waiting
for the next story to begin.
Bleached in the grains
of paper were the words
I could not write, the lone
verses lost between space
and a hardened emptiness
of emotions, where lurking
behind the daze of summer
the truths could not spring
about, falling in line to the
repetition of abandonment
between ink and parchment;
my freedom buried inside
the softest touch of autumn,
where the troubles of defeat
can smolder in ash, leaving
behind my heart in ink stains.
I once knew how ink
bled from my loosely
strangled ideas into
scraps of feelings left
behind, burned across
the page, where desire
whispered against the
frailty of my own truths;
I had known the depths
of roots, as they were
bound like shackles to
the ground, where my
limitations had become
the soil in which I grew.
I was caught between
daydreams and sonnets,
in the loose reflections
off the western skyline,
watching the mountains
soothe me into a lullaby
I’ve heard twice before –
when nights were always
cooler without the glow
from the moon caressing
the mountain side, and
days were lined like the
inside of stars, caught
between the horizons
searching for home.
As silent as a rose,
left to the sun in the
hours of spring, with
light echoes from the
trees rustling against
thoughts as though
there was only ever a
chance at happiness,
ready to fade out in
the days of summer;
you are silence left
at daybreak, a single
chill in the air when
the days are shifting,
holding onto a fear of
what change will bring.
Storylines in Verse 