It was only the silence
returning, creeping in
through the cracks with
a resilience in latitude
towards the tremors of
heartache and looming
debris; twice crossing
stages of change and
promises subdued with
the helping hands of
another, melting down
with the cries of rain.
With the gentle waves of amber
granulated into the night sky,
binding stars into the darkened
scenes of heaven and fidelity,
there is a moon wrapped in the
embrace of my love, soothing
sonnets twice turned over and
falling with the rhythm of lost
laughter at the touch of hand;
gently and soundly upholding
the northern skyline with twists
of fate and desire, only casting
reflections against their heart
to help guide me back home.
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.
At some far off point you began
using my own words of devotion,
my verses of longing and love
against me as your weapon of
choice, twisting the lyrics farther
into my heart, basking in the light
reflections of the blood dripping
down – either this is your choice,
the decision I’ve been waiting so
patiently for, or either you haven’t
the appetite to acknowledge that
you are breaking me, once again.
It’s all happenstance, for I haven’t
any words left to convince you;
you’ve used them all against me.
as I sit in anticipation, gazing
out the window of the backseat,
going seventy five without a radio
down the grains of the highway,
watching the amber waves sway
past, I am aware that with every
passing grain, every passing day
there is another memory that we
will never have, another day lost
to indecision and circumstance;
I watch the waves carry me into
hope swaying against reality, and
I am lost in a sea of grains, buying
the outcome of dreams not quite
attainable without a new horizon.
In every shade of blue,
I see the reflection of the
stars whispering songs
of sonnets against your
eyelashes, in time to the
fallen beats of a trumpet
and her sax, mixing love
with jazz and the sight of
rain in the horizon; with
every variant and in every
direction, I am the brush
swirling together a lifetime
of words and promises,
waiting for you to notice.
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.
with the echoing of jazz
past the crisp autumn air
falling into the rhythm of
leaves dancing sonnets
to the ground; with beats
of percussions and lonely
hearts holding on to stars
in the earliest hours of the
morning, waiting in sought
after transition of the sun –
still smiling albeit curious,
with the rise and eminent
fall of indecision, breaking
daylight with every peak of
hesitation and whispering
echoes of jazz, only to fall.
Painted against the glass
in concrete memories of blue,
where a laugh and a whisper
could collide in a gentle sigh
drifting deeply into the night
behind the smile in your eyes;
where the traces of the moon
are light brushes of my fingers
against your ever warming skin,
I kissed your lips and whispered
that I still loved you – the first
time in months those words fell
from my lips, but always circling
my heart. With a look back at the
portrait painted in glass, two lovers
hand in hand, leaning into the other’s
sigh, with an escape of the moon,
circling us in love and in blue.
In between days of returning
to home, and wishful thinking
I kissed her cheek and felt her
sigh shiver down my spine as she
had her arms around me, only to
be absorbed by the concrete – or
perhaps it still hasn’t left me; a
slight shiver bouncing from my
memories and hopeful dreams.
She is always with me, a slight
burn of her fingertips as she
pulled away, leaving the best
kind of scars, only left to be
kissed away in the pending rain.
Storylines in Verse 