I thought I had your heart,
all this time I was calling it
mine, still believing that our
memories had been painted
on the walls of your heart in
crimson shades of the golden
days when a whisper was all
that it took, more than just a
look and I was yours and you
were all mine – but with days
fading, and the paint chipping
away, I ask myself how long
I shall be allowed to stay…
Bury me in the autumn,
propped against the dying
willows, so I can whisper
alongside them until the
mornings end – carry me
past the river, where the
roots are growing plenty,
caught inside the daze of
my lengthened goodbyes.
Remember me in autumn,
when the trees have faded
into whispers beyond the
river, where the age of my
innocence and youth still
linger in the roots; and if
the winds shall no longer
reach the willows, miss
me, in my final goodbye.
I blocked out words
falling from my lips
in blue ink stains on
the page; where my
imagination was left
to fight back words
attempting to escape,
I sought out freedom
from the truth, all the
while still dreading
the certainty of losing
myself inside broken
verses strewn across
the page, littered in
ramblings and debris
of a story not my own.
I crave poetry set inside
rhythms of jazz and blues,
where the beats lay golden,
scattered between riffs and
the subtleties of life, gently
soothing in the breaks and
limits deeply rooted in the
foundation set by a trumpet
and her sax; swaying in and
out of each storyline in verse
in a tantalizing flow of words,
serenaded by jazz, and love.
At the crevice of the turn,
where the wild flowers in
yellows and whites dance
side to side as though no
one were watching, where
the tree line is hidden from
immediate view, and owls
retreat to during the longest
hours of the sun in summer,
where a laugh or even the
slightest giggle can get lost
for miles in any breeze – my
heart is beating fast against
your giggle and sigh, I have
re-found love on your terms,
gently rustic and everlasting.
We said goodbye to dusk,
filtered in the shadows of
the stars, with the subtlety
of the sun looming over the
darkening horizon – we lost
ourselves under the lights of
the sky, sun-kissed in gentle
waves of a pleasure and in a
promise; we held on to each
other, knowing our own limits
but with the subtle passing of
glances between the sun and
moon, we had realized how a
love could truly be so infinite.
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.
I am nestled in an embrace
inside the crook of your arm,
where dreams are rocking us
into lullabies, and secrets are
no longer screaming, where
the only truth is of love with
an understanding that comes
long before the sun is rising,
where we can lose ourselves
in the little things, and where
love is found inside your arms,
nestling our hearts together in
comfort and dreams, where an
embrace steals the night away.
I struck a match at twelve
counting to five and watching
the smoke rise just long enough
for me to miss you – you were
my evening, night, and my air,
clouded in ash and memories;
with a burnt tipped match left in
my hand, as all that remained of
a time fueled in fire and desire,
where the rising smoke was a
promise we were infinite, with
city streets falling way beneath
us, now we’re just slow burning
into rising clouds of dust and ash.
In the light of celebration
when musings come out to
play and laughter fills the
outline of trees, stemming
from the tips of flowers up
towards the sky – there is
music found in the shades
of early March; where you
and I are dancing between
the gardens, left untouched
by chaos and foundations,
soothed in gentle melodies
with us reflected in shades
of subtle Jade, set against a
celebration of sound and life.
Storylines in Verse 