I think about the sparrows
still falling from the sky,
from that poem I once read
but couldn’t quite understand;
something about loneliness,
tugging mercifully at the old
heart strings like a good vinyl
playing in the background of
a coffee shop while it rains.
Or maybe it’s only projection;
self-acceptance of a battered
lonely heart unable to write,
unable to sing and fly, like
those broken fallen sparrows,
crushed beneath the weight
of sorrow and a writer’s pen.
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.
I was holding you still
as time catapulted from
underneath our feet, as a
foreshadowing memory
of what we stood to lose;
the details still dangling
by the threads as we are
rocketed forward, arms
stretched out, grabbing as
many loose strings as we
could, cherishing our life
as those threads unraveled
in our grasp – we remember
what we have lost, and from
there, all that we have gained.
The weight of my world
bared the absence of three
days of life, nestled in the
crook of my shoulders and
left with a weight I could
not carry – three days over,
yet three days weaker with
the constant absence rooted
into my skin, tainted with a
marking left to represent my
pride, as though absence had
become my savior and I was
only weakened by the weight
of a world I no longer knew.
The days fell to gray,
darkened by the turn
of winter’s kiss, where
the snow was meant to
fall as soft blankets of
white, creating visions
of a lovers wonderland,
hand in hand with the
night; yet the snow was
left shaken in a refusal
to fall, leaving an earth
left to gray, cold hearted
and bleak, with only the
falling of lovers to weep.
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
The skies of winter
have my name written
in pink and gray muted
hues, as though we had
been close friends once,
bonded together by the
falling snow within small
crevices of concrete and
truths, where the slightest
whistle was calling upon
the winds to join us – the
skies of winter are a lost
friend, long forgotten in
the blinding lights of the
holidays, buried inside a
forthcoming of snow as
though that were all they
had left to share with us.
As the light began to fall
against the unseen side of
mountains, where dreams
are laid to rest, and where
promises are sprouting up
like trees, I buried my own
heart; longing for the height
to kiss the moon each night,
with the gentle songs of the
morning birds taking shelter
by my roots, I was fading by
the mountainside with only
hope and spare change, and
somehow that was enough.
As the gentlest of escapes,
I’d close my eyes and you’d
become the dream fulfilling
all forms of fantasy, where I
never have to close my eyes
at night, never leaving behind
the beauty of your smile, and
where you and I can dance on
the moon, half steps as I twirl
you in time to our song set to
jazz; where we can travel all
of the world in the time of the
setting sun, painting our hearts
as one in shades of yellow and
red, where I can pull you close,
whispering my love in sonnets,
where I only ever wake myself
up, knowing you’re in my arms.
Storylines in Verse 