With two sways of the ink
I was penning my heart in
verse; a storyline of a love
I wished would have no end.
Blending promises from the
edge of my pen, into nights
of hope, left to carry on with
every new moon. I was the
writer and she was my poem;
carrying love with each new
storyline starting with a sole
concept of beauty beyond
the heart, where every word I
knew, came from loving her.
I’ve grown weary of the
distance between two stars,
it must be filled in silence
that battles the mind and
heart – left to trap echoes
of longing and lost love,
as though reflections of
stars shine brightest inside
truth and honesty past the
goodbyes, despite the time
in distance; never to reach
out towards a love to hold.
It wasn’t a soft graze,
left to timid lips and
hands like before –
you held passion in
a kiss, interlocking
truths of our hearts
with every sway of
a sigh, with trailing
hands mapping out
missed constellations
across our bodies as
the night kept warm
in our thoughts, with
us once more on the
verge of hope and a
lasting discovery.
Autumn was fading in a blur
of orange encrusted promises
as the first hint of snow was
falling on the horizon, with a
tangle of white whistling onto
the blank page leaving behind
softened shades of forgotten
words, entrusting the landscape
in starlight and glistening snow –
the ashes of autumn left fading,
by icicles as sharp as truth left
dangling over the page, with a
blanket left behind of words to
be uncovered, as crisp dances
of snow begin to fall again.
Within two shades of silence,
I am still wishing the idea of your
name on my lips, whistling away
blushes of memories against my
reflection, hoping for a change of
season to cradle me in their arms
as nights are growing longer, with
the days burning to ashes. I am
battling the silence of my mind
versus the quietness in my heart,
where I cannot fathom a victor, for
neither are leading me back to you.
Scraped together in mementos
of happier days and longing nights
are pieces of rubble from a broken
heart; cast in half light candles of
that first evening we spent beneath
the stars, with notes gently battered
back and forth, written in the keno
crayon that we’d slide across the bar
as though we could not get enough
of showcasing our love, by way of
stolen heartbeats and a future mapped
out in beer stains and crayon – left to
gather together in daydreams lost as
debris, stuffed in a shoebox, as worn
as my heart, filtered away in hope, set
to hold all pieces of my memories.
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.
hope was numbered in days,
limited to dash marks on the
calendar, set to the rising of
the sun and then moon; as if
time was not a destructive
enough force, twisting and
bending hope into fragments
of the truth, believing in the
idea of second chances long
past memories in disguise.
with every newly fallen star
we were running out of days
to count – lies to believe and
truths to alter into our own
interpretations, calling them
hope as though we could hold
them in our embrace, tightly
bound in possibilities, to help
lighten the nights when the
stars are refusing to shine.
I craved the innocence
of a dream set to poetry,
where the blue ink swirls
masqueraded as sonnets
set in a tune of the trees,
billowing past lone breezes
that seemed to only cry in
the hours of free verse and
rhyme; where the rustle of
the autumn days, left me
craving the purity of past
wishes carved in the stars,
where reality had left, and
all I had were my dreams
whispering onto the page.
Without the delicate light
of the moon to guide me
into my days, I am left in
uncertainty, craving the
subtle reflection of stars,
that are like kisses left in
sonnets and in rhythms of
blues; left to fear the sun
like a second burden to my
day, knowing the hours to
be a reminder of how the
moon vanished past the
horizon, refusing to rise,
and I am left in darkness.
Storylines in Verse 