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.
I watched my memories
fall from the trees in colors
of orange and autumn; burned
by the contours of the sun in a
surprise afterglow of summer,
whistling songs past the gentle
grazes of the sun kissing the
clouds goodnight. And with the
light seasoned change, I found
a star to love – patiently waiting
for me to touch with a poets
hand, bending twice with a
devotion in a dance at dusk
with the rise of a new moon.
I crave a few grains of poetry,
blessed from the stars in light
of the moon, swirling between
thoughts cast in the minds of a
hopeless romantic and a realist;
bouncing off the reflections of
the stars as they parade on the
horizon, mapping out the colors
of where the sun will rise and
counting down visions from the
heavens, whispering promises
to the moon in a repetition of
clues and colors, masquerading
as the onset of a lover found.
I lived long enough to see
myself become the villain
in my own narrative; once
the hero, fighting tragedy
at the hands of a happily
ever after, only to lose sight
of my fights, while taking a
bitter sword against myself –
twice for the blushes, once
for a lie. Burning morals
like bridges against those
non believers, reciting lies
with a sharp tongue to view
chances past my cause; left
to put together pieces of my
own destruction with only a
realization that I’ve become
my own target, left to fight.
she had become broken
fragments of hope and
insecurities, reflecting off
the glass of whiskey and
rocks – promising herself
she was always the fighter,
staying rooted in her desires,
yet, with every passing sun
she was breaking off more
pieces of logic and reason,
trailing shards of debris and
rubble in her wake, with only
bits of glass left distressed
without a reflection to hold.
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.
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.
my feet had finally touched
the soil I had been longing
for, these past two years, and
yet – this didn’t quite feel like
home anymore. after all the
planning, reminiscing, and the
bribing past love and devotion,
this wasn’t the landscape of
my dreams anymore, for my
only true home, is with you.
between whispers and sonnets
we could cover the landscape of
the moon, carving out milestones
in memories and gentle lullabies
swaying in-between constellations,
fragments of stars and promises.
together we can illuminate the sky
past dusk, with hope just on the
horizon and a laughter of colorful
verse to lighten the darkness; with
each other hand in hand, we can
create the crevices of the moon to
hold our secrets, until we can find
the words to wish onto the world.
We were alternating
writing chapters of our
story; yours were always
longer, while I was rushing
to get to the finish, trying to
figure out how it all ends, and
you were right – I was missing
all of the little things, details on
the page, not stopping to take a
breath with every little change
in verse. You said it was time
for us to rewrite our chapters
separately, and then you left.
I hadn’t any idea on how to
start, except to take a deep
breath, and to try detailing
out every memory that I
was missing out on in
your absence – filling
pages with chapters
of what I hoped
would turn into
a new middle,
not a fantasy
about our
ending.
Storylines in Verse 