It was the way the ripples in
her eyes, shallow yet focused
made me dream; crossing the
waters and believing in second
chances past the horizon – still
moving forward against the
grains of the current of every
wish laying just outside of her
eyelashes, beating gently with
promises of possibilities and
an ounce of hope in thoughts,
believing in chances and love.
I watched my memories
fall from the trees in colors
of orange and autumn; burned
by the contours of the sun in a
surprise afterglow of summer,
whistling songs past the gentle
grazes of the sun kissing the
clouds goodnight. And with the
light seasoned change, I found
a star to love – patiently waiting
for me to touch with a poets
hand, bending twice with a
devotion in a dance at dusk
with the rise of a new moon.
So much for words when
only actions hold any truth;
resemblances of the ideas
we can’t form into coherent
thoughts past our lips, instead
focusing on silence and the
act of distance to showcase
feelings – providing time to
play the enemy, and for our
memories to fall apart under
pressure, as though actions
aren’t in fact confrontation,
nestled on the lips of a lie.
I could have sworn to the right
side of heaven, you’d never put
me through this hell; forcing the
silence to deliver your goodbye
as you quiver inside memories
of us swearing we’d never say
such words, light at the touch
and too fragile to fall, as though
it was only another action left for
us mere mortals here on earth, too
confined in confrontation to bare
witness – so you can preach your
silences, I’ll still speak the fluid
language of love, meant only for
your ears, even if you can’t hear
me past your goodbyes left silent.
If my words mean nothing
then why do you shed light
on them during the hours
following the break of the
moon – filling your thoughts
with serenades and sonnets
of the love that I have for you,
which you aren’t allowing to
grow; bending the edges of
the words into hardened and
misshapen truths as though
honesty is the reality you’re
running from, and I am the
keeper of twice painted lies.
I crave a few grains of poetry,
blessed from the stars in light
of the moon, swirling between
thoughts cast in the minds of a
hopeless romantic and a realist;
bouncing off the reflections of
the stars as they parade on the
horizon, mapping out the colors
of where the sun will rise and
counting down visions from the
heavens, whispering promises
to the moon in a repetition of
clues and colors, masquerading
as the onset of a lover found.
I played my final hand,
knowing the odds against
my favor, as all I needed
was the queen of hearts
nestled deeply behind the
blue print found in your
hand – as I waited patiently
for you to lay your cards on
the table, and yet instead of
taking all that was left of me,
you got up, silently walking
away, taking your cards and
my queen of heart with you.
With the whistle of the winds
past the earliest hours of dawn,
where the trees are swaying soft
symphonies outside my window,
calling for my memories to come
out and play, I am strolling gently
through dreams half buried in the
past, lingering twice on shades of
blues with a soft touch of violets
lining the horizon, with collapsed
wishes parading down like rain –
half entranced by the voice of my
muse singing lullabies, I whistle
alongside in hopes of her return.
I lived long enough to see
myself become the villain
in my own narrative; once
the hero, fighting tragedy
at the hands of a happily
ever after, only to lose sight
of my fights, while taking a
bitter sword against myself –
twice for the blushes, once
for a lie. Burning morals
like bridges against those
non believers, reciting lies
with a sharp tongue to view
chances past my cause; left
to put together pieces of my
own destruction with only a
realization that I’ve become
my own target, left to fight.
I had spent the summer
in false hope and delusion,
placing every effort in my
attempts to tame the wind,
believing once captured, I
could silence the storms,
rocking them gently with
sonnets and lullabies, only
to fail with every lash and
blow; but now it is autumn,
with only the promises of
leaves falling, granting me
new memories to tame, with
every whistle of the breezes.
Storylines in Verse 