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.
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.
I watched as the flames
burned my impressionable
thoughts and stolen words,
smoldering the remains of
my lasting hope in a dance
of smoke and ash, singing
sighs of cracks and sizzles
while sending sonnets to the
stars, engulfing the night in
flames and memories as the
fire whispers fueled secrets
into our thoughts with the
burn and glow of the night.
As the last page turns,
the leaves begin to fall,
replacing chapters and
metaphors for the crisp
air of autumn, reds and
oranges left dangling on
the branches as the story
lingers, gently lulling us
into a smooth transition,
where nights are burning
pages of our histories in
the flames, and we warm
ourselves inside memories,
counting stars and waiting
for the next story to begin.
My words were harboring
at the deepest end, only to
burst on the surface at the
first sign of light – fighting
a losing battle against time
and the currents, making the
words stubborn, unattainable
at the heart, as I was left to
dwell alone in the shallows,
watching with a half heart
as my words were the only
cause to blame, as I lay back
submerging myself in relief
and guilt, as I lay drowning.
I gamble against a fear
of my own doing; I have
loved you once, burned
at the roots with solemn
words of affection laced
in your laughter, yet I love
you still, hardened by the
remnants of our truths I no
longer wish to see, folded
into our history as the sun
still kisses the moon every
night – I play on, dangled
by my roots, betting against
fear, holding only my heart.
Bleached in the grains
of paper were the words
I could not write, the lone
verses lost between space
and a hardened emptiness
of emotions, where lurking
behind the daze of summer
the truths could not spring
about, falling in line to the
repetition of abandonment
between ink and parchment;
my freedom buried inside
the softest touch of autumn,
where the troubles of defeat
can smolder in ash, leaving
behind my heart in ink stains.
I crave mad sparks of poetry
igniting against the backdrop
of the night, in colors of reds
and golds, fierce to illuminate
the northern sky, with booms
and bangs, clanging together
in a symphony outshining the
stars, and with ropes of night
left far off dangling between
the outbursts of verses rising,
as the chaos of the poets hand
sparks madness within the sky.
As the night progressed
into the gentle falling of
rain against the windows,
my words washed away
into memory, drifting by
the outskirts of streams,
in downcast symphonies
set to rhythms and blues;
with the winds twitching,
mumbling the remainder
of my thoughts, I am left
to drown in the hopes of
love in silence, hardened
against memories of soft
jazz, flowing like the rain.
In the subtle cluster of stars,
where my hands have danced
along the brightest side of the
moon and have touched with
the gentlest of embraces the
edges of our memories left to
the shadows, cooled down by
time and never ending space;
I still find your heart beating
with every falling star, left to
the hopeless romantics making
wishes on the remnants of love.
Storylines in Verse 