Forty-Five.

I’ve spent too many nights
staring at the stars for loose
answers to notice the path I
was wandering; left and then
right, my feet continuing on
while my head was caught in
longings of the future, with a
step in the right or the wrong
direction, no one was capable
of saying, as I ventured on my
own, lonely meandering past
sonnets and lost daydreams,
naming each star as a desire
to be near you as I passed.

Insight Eight.

With the looming question of
what I see when I gaze upon
you, in every ounce of silence
between us, I can only reply:
you are love and innocence
back at twenty one, standing
at the corner with me, as I’m
wearing my worn heart on
my sleeve asking to kiss you.
My face growing pale with
every second, as yours only
grows in shades of pink as
you whisper yes – the light
sigh from your lips being
carried into the breezes,
returning me to home.

Intervals.

should I wait for you
in the days when the
birds first learn to sing,
where the wildflowers
are sprouting up in the
rhythms of jazz; or on
the eve of the first snow,
where the winds whistle
tunes echoing the moon?
shall I continue to wait
until the very last of my
breaths are whispering
your name, hollowed in
promises and patience,
left to break with the
falling of my final sun?
even then, will you still
remember me – left to
wait in longing for an
end, we’ll never have?

Embers and Ash.

you always craved fire,
watching the sway of the
flames dancing to a beat
only heard by the call of
night, swiftly kissing the
embers – I just failed to
realize that I was your
match, waiting to burn.
and as my flames go up
lighting the northern sky
I can only quiver to ask,
will you love me, still?

Tuesday

I’m living three lies
short of a promise with
no helpful home in sight.
My survival reliant on
caffeine, nicotine, lack
of dreams, with no in
between, and I’ve never
been more friendly than
with the mask of night.
I dare not open my mouth
anymore, for I haven’t an
idea on which version of
the truth will come out;
I know only black lies,
white lies, and how to
swallow my pride – none
of which gets you back
on my side, so why try?

Up.

Four a.m. comes
roaring through
my dreams, waking
up the sounds and
feeding on the
silence, spouting
promises and lies
on endless repeat
until I can’t
decipher in which
direction the sun
will come up; I
am in a trance on
autopilot, with
my heart in the
heavens, waiting
for my clearance
to come down.

For now or always?

I’ll never know how to say goodbye –
do I whisper it softly and allow
it to fade off beyond the skyline,
harmonizing with the sweet moments
captured in between the colors of
the sun reflecting off the trees,
or do I slice it in half, bitter
at the core with the pain and anger
that is raging through my thoughts;
the hurt beyond my control as I want
to flee and run circles and scream
all in the moments of your turning
away, with two knifes in my side?
Tell me please, before you leave me.