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.
Lost in the middle of subdued
cries of a trumpet and her sax
is a call to end the silence; an
upfront plea at the return of a
voice, bringing back sonnets
and songs of memories lasting
long past the falling of the sun.
Scrambled between the beats
of hope and lasting destruction
lays my final attempt at a last
minute redemption to hold you
in my arms for one final dance.
With every chill, I still reach
out for the warmth only found
in the middle of your embrace;
wrapping myself in memories
of waking with the rising of the
sun and curling up against you,
kissing the back of your neck
in an attempt to hear your light
giggle and sigh, warming my
heart with every sound, and
leaning further into your touch.
With only your old blanket and
my fallen memories, I am still
cold through the nights, in a
search of warming devotion.
I had spent the last few moons
swirling around shades of blue –
reaching out between the stars
and blending the colors into my
favorite memories on repeat.
I was too focused on creating
the perfect shade of you, that
I never saw the splash of gold
and auburn appearing on the
skyline until long past the sun
rising, bleeding together new
colors for me to paint with; a
pleasant surprise after many
a moons cast in loneliness.
It was only the silence
returning, creeping in
through the cracks with
a resilience in latitude
towards the tremors of
heartache and looming
debris; twice crossing
stages of change and
promises subdued with
the helping hands of
another, melting down
with the cries of rain.
I sat two hours in the cold,
gazing at the moon in her
far away beauty; half of her
always hidden away in true
darkness, the parts that only
I knew, with a heavy heart.
Her smile unwavering even
amongst the temptation of
the stars, a curvature in true
form, with my hands reaching
out ready to hold if ever she
should fall, whispering sonnets
and lullabies; only shining the
brightest in my steady arms.
she had become broken
fragments of hope and
insecurities, reflecting off
the glass of whiskey and
rocks – promising herself
she was always the fighter,
staying rooted in her desires,
yet, with every passing sun
she was breaking off more
pieces of logic and reason,
trailing shards of debris and
rubble in her wake, with only
bits of glass left distressed
without a reflection to hold.
Past the reflections
of the window pane,
billowing slightly in
the soften breezes of
the neighboring trees,
harboring heart aches
in disguises of hope
hardened with truth;
past the melodies of
the wildflowers long
ago blooming on the
horizon, with laughter
circling like butterflies
in early June, there is
a moment trapped in
the smile of a memory,
recaptured with every
look out my window,
to the glory days of
you and I – back when
there was still such a
thing to look back on;
past the reflections of
regrets and what ifs.
Storylines in Verse 