As the stars shoot past
lone survivors making
wishes beyond longing
for a dream, I recall the
gentleness of the lonely,
when solitude was more
than just a single number,
curled up in satisfaction
of something more, with
possibilities of the infinite
bound inside the realities
of one plus one equaling
more than just you and me,
where all the mathematics
blended into nothingness
until the stars shooting past
carried more than just wishes
of a change in the numbers.
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.
It was her words that held
on to me through the night,
in delicate whispers falling
sporadically like raindrops
to cleanse my beating heart
in reassurances of affection;
I feared the coming storms,
darkening the sky in littered
debris and crashing through
the shadows in far too close
lightning strikes, as I wept –
holding on to every whisper
of her delicate voice trailing
through the black and murky,
waiting for the moon to shine.
We were only as good
as the lies on which we
would break, subtle yet
piercing as truth would
surround itself in cloaks
and daggers, shielding
away the innocence and
hiding from the strands
of pain and discomfort
that break with the day;
we were only as good
as we could pretend to
be, losing ourselves in
the reality that our lies
had become the truths
that we would never see.
With a thousand thoughts
of the unknown, blurred in
shades of ash and charcoal,
running in frantic directions
through my head in between
the coldest hours of four and
six, when the sun was only a
promise and the moon was in
a daze of whispers amongst
the stars, I had lost a trace of
hope that only settles inside
your embrace – I was alone
again, saddened in the truth,
expecting nothing to change.
Storylines in Verse 