I saw clarity in your eyes
when you looked towards
me with love; an unspoken
sonnet laced between two
hearts, filtered with the last
breath of a poet and longing,
with you as my canvas and
love as my words. I am the
poet, and you are my poem,
delicate in transition and full
of a lovers gaze – where we
set our sights on one another
in secret longing, and in full
ambition; we are ink kissing
the page, bound inside love.
The days fell to gray,
darkened by the turn
of winter’s kiss, where
the snow was meant to
fall as soft blankets of
white, creating visions
of a lovers wonderland,
hand in hand with the
night; yet the snow was
left shaken in a refusal
to fall, leaving an earth
left to gray, cold hearted
and bleak, with only the
falling of lovers to weep.
I will chase you into tomorrow
as midnight falls onto a lonely
hour, where words are falling
like change onto the pavements,
with the whispers of newly cast
resolutions echoing against the
alleyways bound to be lost by
sunrise – I will follow you into
the new year, where memories
are disregarded as unnecessary
change, and change is viewed as
successfully winning the lottery;
it’s the realm of new possibilities
or perhaps just any other day, but
no matter what happens, I’ll still
be by your side, come what may.
Life was beginning again
with the changing of crisp
autumn air and the delicate
scattering of leaves falling
to the warmest of embraces;
where our hands sought each
other more frequently, found
steady with the touch of love,
where our hearts beat faster,
lighting the stars on fire, and
where love was as delicate as
the changing leaves, together
we strolled the days hand in
hand, reliving fall and in love.
As the last page turns,
the leaves begin to fall,
replacing chapters and
metaphors for the crisp
air of autumn, reds and
oranges left dangling on
the branches as the story
lingers, gently lulling us
into a smooth transition,
where nights are burning
pages of our histories in
the flames, and we warm
ourselves inside memories,
counting stars and waiting
for the next story to begin.
I.
I sabotage my own happiness
as a fear of letting go – leaving
behind the struggles, the empty
thoughts and feelings in which
I had tried to drown, and saying
goodbye to my own madness as
the only friend I knew. I crush
my own spirits as I am afraid of
the safety I feel from loving you;
you hold my heart so delicately,
in a promising way I never knew,
with gentle whispers of affection,
adorning my once self-demeaning
thoughts with the aspirations of a
future of happiness with you.
II.
I am used to the bleak and weary,
the self-inflicted pain, fleeing from
all signs of happiness, but now it is
your arms that I am running to. I
have sabotaged all our days, in the
ruins of our nights, I see my faults,
I know I am wrong, please tell me
I am not too late.
III.
Before you I was afraid of all the
things I couldn’t understand, and
I let that fear drive me to depths
of my undoing, but then you were
there to save me, and I was afraid
of the glaring truth, that I could no
longer save myself. I threw away
all chances of happiness as it was
a feeling I couldn’t grasp, and now
I’ve become the master of sabotage,
wondering if I can find the strength
to save myself from truly ruining us.
Somewhere in the transition
of my love for you and being
allowed to love you once more,
I lost my voice – gone were the
words that flew so easily from
my pen, left instead to the blue
inked stains smeared across the
pages, crossed out and repeated
twice more until love itself had
become this illusion and I could
no longer convey my affection
without the promise of bleeding
my heart on the page, and in my destruction, my voice withdrew;
leaving behind thoughts I could
not put into words, strangled by
time and longing, as though upon
its death, the truth could be free.
Truth was shredding
through the darkness
like the sun kisses the
stars awake, blending
shades of words into
wisdom and feelings,
cutting through edges
of blackened dust by
the fiercest of kisses;
truth lies in the dark
shadows, softened by
a denial of the unseen,
where words can hide
emotions and actions,
destroying any hope
of a peaceful recovery.
I’ll meet you at the edge
of the sunset, between the
wishes and mislaid dreams,
where the sun and moon are
dancing, exchanging glances
passed around like whispers,
subtle and never seen; where
colors are blending into stars,
floating higher than the night,
casting shadows of our hearts
into stories shining bright – I
will meet you soon, my love,
where the moon and sun are
free, dancing on the horizon
just waiting for you and me.
Written in the ashes
of pencil shavings and
daydreams are leftover
remains of my words
not quite brave enough
to take root to the page;
searching for solace in
the confines of a blank
space, where limits are
the enemy, burying my
own expectations into
first drafts of promises
in a chance at revival of
written smoke and ash.
Storylines in Verse 