In a rush of swollen blazes,
spewing ashes of autumn and
charcoal, where the half burnt
breezes are being carried out
as though fragments bare no
harm, and memories are only
as good as the dreams in which
they are kept; with the roots of
flames burning blue in the light
of love and smoke hovering past
realms of suffocation, waiting
for life to distinguish the blazes –
as though indecision was just a
game, with all of us left burning.
I wrote down every letter
in curves and slants in a
constant repetition of the
words I longed to say to
you – the characterization
of every verse loaded with
a kiss, a promise, and a
meaning that would only
fall apart with punctuation.
Every letter was bleeding
in blue ink from my mind,
hoping for a chance to be
read by you, to be seen as
though you alone could see
into my heart and realize
what kept it beating – but
words are only words until
put into action, and it was
just one of the many love
letters, I could never send.
It all comes down to patience,
a steady quality I do not have –
where time is only considered
a burden, and the silences are
screaming lies and indecisions
as I attempt to cast myself into
dreams of hope, where the only
truths are painted in sought after
realizations too painful to bare
as my heart is still echoing your
name; the constant fear of never
again and lone tales of distance
spreading out like ashes in the
breeze, where your name falls
like ice from my lips as I am
hesitant to break the silence for
the fear of your answers is the
only thing worse than waiting.
in the latest of the early hours
when the blue ink is bleeding
from my thoughts and dreams,
scribbling through scratches of
memories and words cast in the
idea of gold and longing, it is your
image twice believing in the sigh
forming on your lips after a gentle
kiss, with the echo of rain falling
as though it wasn’t just an ending,
a parting of two hearts still beating
in time to the other but no longer
leaning towards one another, as
though goodbye was just a word
not an action, as I was frantically
trying to recapture all my desires
before that final kiss into words to
keep you here, to bring you back,
as though I ever had a chance.
I had been dreaming of
softened shades of your
embrace, with the light of
the sun reflecting fluttering
tales of your eyelashes in a
steady count of our hearts;
your warmth encircling my
body as a trusted memory,
with your light sigh against
my ear whispering a song
from our earliest of days,
and I not quite believing
this was no longer home.
It was an ease of transition, past
the yellowed hills of the horizon,
where the truths were scattered
like leaves in fall, briskly strewn
about in patterns undecipherable,
painting the slight variations of
jazz in repetition to the subtle
echo of your laugh at the ease
of love; you are romance at the
height of the moon, longing to
fall like the pending crisp tales
of autumn, changing indecisions
into truths to dance in the fields
with the daisies and champagne.
just take my hand and let us
slow dance in the rain; swirling
between droplets and each other
around one in the morning, when
the night is innocent and quiet,
slowly creeping past insecurities
while warm at the touch of hand.
we’ll dance between the breezes,
making up lyrics as we go to the
tune of taking turns making each
other blush as we twirl and spin,
dipping in time to droplets; just
take my hand and help me fall
in love with the rain once again.
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.
My words are all that I have,
yet even they so strategically
aligned, were not enough to
convey to you the sounds of
my heart that only come from
loving you; they cannot seem
to paint a vivid enough image
of my longing to hold you in
my arms once more, past the
hours of the moon as we curl
against each other, echoing
our heart beats in a rhythmic
pattern of I love you’s, as we
count down our memories of
affection to the letters of the
alphabet, and reciting words
I never dreamed would fail me.
I tried counting memories
at the touch of my fingertips,
two and four, then six – until
I was well past the numerical
representation of loving you,
basking in the gentle light of
the moon that comes with all
memories filled with you and
I; two more, plus four and six,
dancing down the halls of my
place in repetition to echoes
of jazz playing at the steady
rhythm of my heart that only
comes while thinking of us.
Storylines in Verse 