Your silence
is what hits the hardest –
the complete absence
of the sun on the
warmest of summer days,
the unanswered echo
of my heart beat crashing,
the lack of laughter
vibrating down my neck
to the tips of my
blue painted toes –
your silence screams
sonnets at the bottom
of my whiskey, and
I can do nothing
but listen.
With every whip of my pen,
wrinkled parchment and landscape,
I bleed caution in ink,
daring my voice to
artistically craft her beauty
in lines and white space –
envisioning her giggle and sigh
as she traces lines of muse.
She is my first thought and last –
straddling the lines,
hovering in creativity,
bleeding ink and thoughts
into words crossed out and read.
She inspires my days,
my stars, and the nights –
beauty manifested in
illustrations of golden haze.
I spend weeks
tracing the contours of her skin,
eager for inspiration to
develop and strike
ballads and sonnets,
literary heroism at its finest.
Yet no muse has ever touched
as sweetly with such a wicked
lash and streak –
violent temper to refrain
in poetic mortality.
She is ice in June,
blinding in twilight,
shining in starlight and sun –
fitting yet resistant
to lay in paper and share
her beauty to the world
in verse, in lines,
in love and rhymes.
That first rain
brought me into your arms.
I was shaken and stirred
with flashbacks of
raging waters and flood zones
from last September.
That first morning after
I knew winds were changing –
a turning tide of emotions,
flooding the cracks and holes,
washing away debris and dust;
creating a new April.
A start to a finish;
an anticipated recovery.
That first natural disaster
brought me home to you –
risking chance and opportunity
to hold you, be held by you,
diving and rushing forward
with catapults of blue.
Your absence
is a match – lighting me
from the inside out.
I try to run and flee,
but it is unescapable –
I am doomed in defeat,
and I have barely
begun to fight.
The flames are growing;
blazing and strong.
I am heightened in heat;
repenting in ashes.
This battle is won
with a single match,
that I light myself
on the coldest of nights.
Storylines in Verse 