I’ve grown weary of the
distance between two stars,
it must be filled in silence
that battles the mind and
heart – left to trap echoes
of longing and lost love,
as though reflections of
stars shine brightest inside
truth and honesty past the
goodbyes, despite the time
in distance; never to reach
out towards a love to hold.
Autumn was fading in a blur
of orange encrusted promises
as the first hint of snow was
falling on the horizon, with a
tangle of white whistling onto
the blank page leaving behind
softened shades of forgotten
words, entrusting the landscape
in starlight and glistening snow –
the ashes of autumn left fading,
by icicles as sharp as truth left
dangling over the page, with a
blanket left behind of words to
be uncovered, as crisp dances
of snow begin to fall again.
Within two shades of silence,
I am still wishing the idea of your
name on my lips, whistling away
blushes of memories against my
reflection, hoping for a change of
season to cradle me in their arms
as nights are growing longer, with
the days burning to ashes. I am
battling the silence of my mind
versus the quietness in my heart,
where I cannot fathom a victor, for
neither are leading me back to you.
Scraped together in mementos
of happier days and longing nights
are pieces of rubble from a broken
heart; cast in half light candles of
that first evening we spent beneath
the stars, with notes gently battered
back and forth, written in the keno
crayon that we’d slide across the bar
as though we could not get enough
of showcasing our love, by way of
stolen heartbeats and a future mapped
out in beer stains and crayon – left to
gather together in daydreams lost as
debris, stuffed in a shoebox, as worn
as my heart, filtered away in hope, set
to hold all pieces of my memories.
With the looming question of
what I see when I gaze upon
you, in every ounce of silence
between us, I can only reply:
you are love and innocence
back at twenty one, standing
at the corner with me, as I’m
wearing my worn heart on
my sleeve asking to kiss you.
My face growing pale with
every second, as yours only
grows in shades of pink as
you whisper yes – the light
sigh from your lips being
carried into the breezes,
returning me to home.
The words so fearlessly hung
from her lips, yet she refused
to speak them in the darkest
hours of untold truth – instead
struggling to gather strength to
mumble echoes from her heart
that would cause cracks in my
own unsteady foundation. She
was aware of very little beyond
the coming farewell, but she
spoke with a certainty of it in
her heart and it showed on the
delicate lips that I used to be
allowed to kiss with my own
certainty goodnight, yet now
had to casually watch tremble
as she tried repeatedly to say
the words that went beyond a
promise. Those words fearless,
yet the actions were fading in
moments as I turned to kiss her
lips one last time in memory.
hope was numbered in days,
limited to dash marks on the
calendar, set to the rising of
the sun and then moon; as if
time was not a destructive
enough force, twisting and
bending hope into fragments
of the truth, believing in the
idea of second chances long
past memories in disguise.
with every newly fallen star
we were running out of days
to count – lies to believe and
truths to alter into our own
interpretations, calling them
hope as though we could hold
them in our embrace, tightly
bound in possibilities, to help
lighten the nights when the
stars are refusing to shine.
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.
should I wait for you
in the days when the
birds first learn to sing,
where the wildflowers
are sprouting up in the
rhythms of jazz; or on
the eve of the first snow,
where the winds whistle
tunes echoing the moon?
shall I continue to wait
until the very last of my
breaths are whispering
your name, hollowed in
promises and patience,
left to break with the
falling of my final sun?
even then, will you still
remember me – left to
wait in longing for an
end, we’ll never have?
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?
Storylines in Verse 