Summer had finally ended
in a blaze, and now autumn
was retreating in the glistened
promise of snow before winter;
where the falling of the clouds
overlooking heaven was a sight
of Romance in November – a
new change in the subtle days,
where the gentle tug of breezes
was an embrace to be found, as
my favorite of all kinds of love
stories. This was a new kind of
season, where the snow met a
match to burn; it was beauty in
transition, and it was all ours.
I craved the innocence
of a dream set to poetry,
where the blue ink swirls
masqueraded as sonnets
set in a tune of the trees,
billowing past lone breezes
that seemed to only cry in
the hours of free verse and
rhyme; where the rustle of
the autumn days, left me
craving the purity of past
wishes carved in the stars,
where reality had left, and
all I had were my dreams
whispering onto the page.
Without the delicate light
of the moon to guide me
into my days, I am left in
uncertainty, craving the
subtle reflection of stars,
that are like kisses left in
sonnets and in rhythms of
blues; left to fear the sun
like a second burden to my
day, knowing the hours to
be a reminder of how the
moon vanished past the
horizon, refusing to rise,
and I am left in darkness.
She is the softest of songs
set to jazz, where even the
wisps of her silence send
my heart crooning, and I
can only succumb to the
melodies of her eyelashes
fluttering past the tunes in
transition – she is my muse,
decorating my dreams set
to tunes of a trumpet and
her sax, in the company of
love, despite her absence.
She has left, to places just
outside of my reach, but
wherever she travels, she
takes all of me with her.
Pull me tighter into your embrace –
I feel the warmth of your arms slowly
receding like the waves who gently
kiss the beach goodnight. I crave the
light brush of your fingertips burning
future memories into my chilled skin.
Wrap me inside your words echoing
off your steady heartbeat of promises,
dreams, and everything in-between.
Allow me to nestle my head in the
curve of your neck, knowing your
scent to be of home, where my light
breaths tickle and you lovingly sigh.
Pull me tighter, and never let me go.
you always craved fire,
watching the sway of the
flames dancing to a beat
only heard by the call of
night, swiftly kissing the
embers – I just failed to
realize that I was your
match, waiting to burn.
and as my flames go up
lighting the northern sky
I can only quiver to ask,
will you love me, still?
Carried in the breezes past
midnight, is the light giggle
surrounding your smile as
your eyelashes are starting
to flutter in time to the rapid
successions of your heart –
rising like the moon in soft
patterns played out in blues,
with the backdrop of stars
laid out past the heavens,
you still outshine them all;
carrying your laugh into a
dance of tomorrow, built
for us, to last a lifetime.
I spent the evening
counting the pathway
through the stars to get
back into your arms –
veering left at the Leo
as the light blush of
the breeze helps carry
me past long forgotten
constellations and lone
memories, believing in
possibilities reflected
off the gaze of the last
stars, knowing my path
to be long and darkened
by the night sky, I will
still find my way home.
The sun is rising –
a glow of promise
kissing the horizon,
looming over fallen
days of summer as
autumn has already
set in; a change in
direction, setting in
time with the rising
of possibilities and
chances embraced
in the warmth of a
kiss left by the sun,
burning the trees in
wishes and desire,
casting behind only
memories to fall in
time with the leaves,
with the backdrop
of a new sun rising.
with the words that used to flow
so fervently from my feeble mind,
lost in a realm of reason between
my thoughts and a blue inked pen,
are the whispers I couldn’t quite
grasp in order to speak out loud,
as though they were victims unto
themselves or casualties of my
own making, as I tried valiantly to
shake them out and make us both
bleed – twice for honesty, once for
a lie only I was caught believing.
down went the words onto paper
I had dreamt of and then ended
up recanting, as though no word
was good enough to share with
you my secrets and desires, and
so instead I sat staring at a blank
page, forgetting that this too was
part of my truth, I hadn’t yet shared.
Storylines in Verse 