I crave the pain that seeps
from my blood into poetic
trails of blue ink found on
the page, where light and
verse are clouded behind
lines of memories and the
subtle hues of white space
are begging to be branded
with the leftover outcries of
my mind and heart; I crave
the light of pain, when I can
shred through the darkness
in poetic upheaval, emerging
victorious, with pen in hand.
Bury me in the autumn,
propped against the dying
willows, so I can whisper
alongside them until the
mornings end – carry me
past the river, where the
roots are growing plenty,
caught inside the daze of
my lengthened goodbyes.
Remember me in autumn,
when the trees have faded
into whispers beyond the
river, where the age of my
innocence and youth still
linger in the roots; and if
the winds shall no longer
reach the willows, miss
me, in my final goodbye.
I blocked out words
falling from my lips
in blue ink stains on
the page; where my
imagination was left
to fight back words
attempting to escape,
I sought out freedom
from the truth, all the
while still dreading
the certainty of losing
myself inside broken
verses strewn across
the page, littered in
ramblings and debris
of a story not my own.
We said goodbye to dusk,
filtered in the shadows of
the stars, with the subtlety
of the sun looming over the
darkening horizon – we lost
ourselves under the lights of
the sky, sun-kissed in gentle
waves of a pleasure and in a
promise; we held on to each
other, knowing our own limits
but with the subtle passing of
glances between the sun and
moon, we had realized how a
love could truly be so infinite.
I struck a match at twelve
counting to five and watching
the smoke rise just long enough
for me to miss you – you were
my evening, night, and my air,
clouded in ash and memories;
with a burnt tipped match left in
my hand, as all that remained of
a time fueled in fire and desire,
where the rising smoke was a
promise we were infinite, with
city streets falling way beneath
us, now we’re just slow burning
into rising clouds of dust and ash.
We’re trapped in coal
in a dance among flames,
caught in the embers of
a blue and golden haze,
fighting to reach the stars
in a breath of air and sky,
waiting for the moment
to whisper our goodbyes;
dancing long past night
into dust and fallen ash
leaving behind memories
of a firelight sorted past.
Lie to me by the moonlight,
lay me covered in the stars
with fragments of the truth
holding me tightly, bound
to the skyline in memories
of constellations, as though
history will repeat itself and
the truth will become good
again – instead of speckles
of rust not gold, tainting a
clear sky; tainting a perfect
memory, with a broken lie.
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.
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.
It was such a gentle cleansing,
with fragments of my former
self, falling in line with the rain;
the wind blowing and leaving
scars of days past, in debt to the
life I left behind, repaying my
sins with a promise of another
sunrise, one lasting chance left
to blow if the winds should shift
so slightly. It was a buildup of
my mistakes falling before my
eyes, dropping from the heavens
to show their past disguises and
remind me where I was headed,
with the passing of the storm.
Storylines in Verse 