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.
Nebraska, hold me close
like all those summers ago,
when the warmth of the sun’s
rays bled through the open
windows, casting light onto
our hearts as we lay tangled
in bed after many days apart.
Hold me close like the early
days, when love was always
on our minds as we sprawled
out on blankets counting the
spaces between the stars and
filling them with our dreams.
Nebraska, embrace my heart,
like all those summers ago,
as waking up next to you was
the most beautiful sight I had
seen, when you became love,
basking in the summer heat.
Hold me Nebraska; hold my
heart and kiss my dreams.
As the lines I had to write
took a new twist of the pen,
my words became mangled
together in thoughts and lost
actions, where my truths had
spilt over and were now left
a harbored mess on the page.
My unwritten verses sought
revenge against my untamed
writers mind – I had deceived
the voice I once followed by
moonlight, left to scrounge on
the scraps of ink and dreams.
I became filled with wild and
impossible thoughts, crushing
the landscape of paper and pen,
ready to burn the bridges of the
written word and set the world
on fire with tongue and verse –
poetry is not dead, it is rising.
I saw clarity in your eyes
when you looked towards
me with love; an unspoken
sonnet laced between two
hearts, filtered with the last
breath of a poet and longing,
with you as my canvas and
love as my words. I am the
poet, and you are my poem,
delicate in transition and full
of a lovers gaze – where we
set our sights on one another
in secret longing, and in full
ambition; we are ink kissing
the page, bound inside love.
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.
With the gentle call of
moonlight and music
filling the sky with the
lures of love and life,
nestled in the aftermath
of a lovers embrace, we
took to a dance beneath
the stars, lost inside the
steps we hadn’t learned,
yet always sung along to;
one and two, then three
and four, always waiting
forever more – tangled
inside the rhythms of a
moonlight sonata, lost in
a dance still being written.
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.
I saw December in your eyes,
frost at the edges with a warmth
fulfilling promises of a firelight
romance building at your core –
with dreams and memories of us
creating visions of a wonderland
of truth and love, you asked me
to be yours with a hopeful desire
I already was; and I always was.
With a simple yes, we set ablaze
a love jealous only of the sun and
moon, circling hearts and writing
sonnets in the snow; we were us
again, and December was ours
While the sun bids farewell,
descending behind the skyline
of mountaintops, seducing the
dreamers while gently laying
their hearts to rest and tracing
the foothills in lazy patterns of
their minds, I am entranced by
another day – we, the dreamers,
wanderers, soul searchers of the
heavens, continue each day with
a dance of seduction led by the
sun and ending with the moon.
In the darkest mornings
of early winter, when the
sun cannot separate from
the moon, and when I am
wrapped inside your arms
willing the day to continue
on with us blissfully in an
embrace, as though we do
not have responsibilities or
matters at hand not just of
the heart – those mornings
I am thankful for, those are
our little slices of imperfect
perfections, bound tightly as
the love of the sun and moon.
Storylines in Verse 