In the broken night sky,
nestled between the stars
are wishes placed during
those long hours waiting
on the rays of a forgotten
sun, when love appears to
be infinite against colors
reflected off the minds of
the dreamers and believers;
let us be wanderers, left to
the curious and undecided,
with creativity as our guide
beneath the broken shards
of starlight, dreaming of
the love from the moon.
I was caught between
daydreams and sonnets,
in the loose reflections
off the western skyline,
watching the mountains
soothe me into a lullaby
I’ve heard twice before –
when nights were always
cooler without the glow
from the moon caressing
the mountain side, and
days were lined like the
inside of stars, caught
between the horizons
searching for home.
She lives on the outskirts
of dreams, where hope goes
to grow past the daisies and
champagne, where the bitter
trenches of a rainstorm half
past the season barrel in like
a stampede. She loves and lies
half past the imaginary set to
imagery, of dreams she once
grew from the roots of ashes to
set her free; running wild past
the outskirts of resolutions, past
daisy chains and restless nights,
where hope no longer grows like
the Gatsby champagne flows.
I carried onto love,
gently balanced on
my sleeve – where
light touches would
tremble with a kiss,
a promise lingered
past a wish of the
heart, and the look
in your eyes as the
moon finally rose
each night, set my
heart ablaze with
the delicacy of the
stars falling from
the sky in wishes,
folded into dreams.
I held onto her laughter
as an echo past her heart,
beating out sonnets to a
fair rhythm of jazz in the
rain – where each giggle,
lightened in a sigh was a
stem of a heartbeat left to
blossom in the reflections
of the rising moon. I held
on tighter to her laughter,
tangled inside my embrace
as newly found promises,
hoping to bottle them up,
and set my dreams on fire,
with the echoed chanting
of a sonnet kissing the rain.
I searched the sky
for stars at half past
the moon, looking to
make a wish; instead
I found them hidden
in her eyes – with two
blinks past butterflies
set as her eyelashes,
she is my own kind
of constellation, and I
am caught in visions
of her dreams, soaring
between Capricorn and
the Leo, following the
stars until love at dawn.
I miss your soft eyelashes
fluttering like the puttering
down of rain, soothing me
into lullabies of jazz and
dreams – where innocence
is sweeping through your
arms like the gentle winds
calling me to play. I miss
the light echo of my name
on your lips like the calling
of birds chanting out stories
with the passing of the rain,
in sonnets and daydreams;
yet with every storm, I still
miss the rainbow, promising
wishes of your final return.
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.
Storylines in Verse 