Hidden behind the shadows
where the night and sun meet,
past the lightly traced outline
of the horizon, where the eyes
play tricks of love and deceit,
are the fallen dreams we had
laid to rest, nestled inside the
buried limits we could not see;
where once dreams had been
kissed twice by daylight on the
horizon, growing in vibrancy,
are now forgotten by the fall of
dusk, left in withered remains,
bounded, begging to be set free.
The weight of my world
bared the absence of three
days of life, nestled in the
crook of my shoulders and
left with a weight I could
not carry – three days over,
yet three days weaker with
the constant absence rooted
into my skin, tainted with a
marking left to represent my
pride, as though absence had
become my savior and I was
only weakened by the weight
of a world I no longer knew.
With the gentle call of
moonlight and music
filling the sky with the
lures of love and life,
nestled in the aftermath
of a lovers embrace, we
took to a dance beneath
the stars, lost inside the
steps we hadn’t learned,
yet always sung along to;
one and two, then three
and four, always waiting
forever more – tangled
inside the rhythms of a
moonlight sonata, lost in
a dance still being written.
With a shallowed breath,
I whispered all my truths
into the night, where the
stars gleamed in a delicate
anticipation, holding onto
my fears and dreams as I
took to the moon, hoping
for guidance with a loving
embrace, searching for an
outcome beyond tattered
remains of a hallowed self;
I was within and without,
tethered to the night by the
ropes of honesty, bound to
the idea of an embrace in
which I could never receive.
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.
I crashed into sleep last night,
tumbling down a nightmare of
a rabbit hole, where love was
obsolete and solace was sought
after like a sacred form of drug,
mythical and scarce, as though
I wasn’t accustomed to comfort
inside my lover’s arms- I broke
by the minute, reaching out for
an arm to hold, only continuing
to fall further in a delusional and
obscure hell, where I was both a
ringmaster and victim, bound by
my subconscious, searching for
the remains of my piloted dream.
In the depths of silence
flowing against rhythms
of loss and love, without
your touch to help guide,
I am havoc into myself;
building barriers to cage
my own heart as though
I am not a carefree soul,
limited only to paper and
blue inked pen – but that’s
not us darling, together we
are rain falling and songs
playing on vinyl, creating
our own rhythms of love
to play against the silence
even if only we can hear.
While the sun bids farewell,
descending behind the skyline
of mountaintops, seducing the
dreamers while gently laying
their hearts to rest and tracing
the foothills in lazy patterns of
their minds, I am entranced by
another day – we, the dreamers,
wanderers, soul searchers of the
heavens, continue each day with
a dance of seduction led by the
sun and ending with the moon.
The skies of winter
have my name written
in pink and gray muted
hues, as though we had
been close friends once,
bonded together by the
falling snow within small
crevices of concrete and
truths, where the slightest
whistle was calling upon
the winds to join us – the
skies of winter are a lost
friend, long forgotten in
the blinding lights of the
holidays, buried inside a
forthcoming of snow as
though that were all they
had left to share with us.
Storylines in Verse 