She is a plume of smoke with no flame;
A song with no discernable chorus.
She looks at me but doesn’t see
Just how much I adore the way
Her eyes turn a different shade of green
When she laughs too hard to speak.
She holds onto my heart so gingerly
That I can only barely feel the grasp
Until she’s out of reach, and then
It feels like a vice, tightening slowly.
By my own hand, my chest caves in.
These thoughts that I have cultivated
Are seeds from which my longing grows.
Her arms are both the sun and rain
That I have welcomed ever since
I left the droughts of January behind
To build my castle in the valley.
like statues and ancient oaks, we’ll weather the storm
standing defiant against the trials of time
and hand in hand we’ll stroll towards the darkness
with decades of devotion to shelter our hearts
and countless milennia of love to sustain us
we are infinite- born in the stomachs of ten thousand stars
and we live to die and evaporate once more
we are everything and nothing and a little bit something
eternally perplexed by our own paradoxical existence
created in limitless space then confined to limited space
born in the sky then tethered to the ground
so we look to the stars as the birds watch the clouds
we are homesick and yet don’t know where home can be found
so the closest we come is by finding Valhalla
in the ones who were formed in the same constellations
we make love in the places where galaxies meet
and collide like the atoms in the core of the sun
like ashes to ashes, forever as one
I hope that when
You love again
You’ll do it right.
That you fall hard
And fall in place
Forget my face.
Forget my voice
Forget my smile
After a while.
When you left me
You left behind
A tired mind.
But what I found
What love can be.
It’s summer nights
And rainy days
Eight million ways.
So take your time
It’s still too soon
An open wound.
But time will heal
And you will feel
Compose a symphony with your laughter
And paint a masterpiece with your eyes.
I’ve seen you create awesome somethings
Where no sound could reverberate and
No colour could ever find its canvas.
I’ve found the most intricate genius
And the most complex satisfaction
In your most effortless simplicities.
Some of you may have been following my blog for the past year or so, and I appreciate it tremendously. That being said, I’m still pretty incompetent when it comes to the blogging format and I would like to reach more people. I’m asking for tips and tricks to help spread my writing to the people who might appreciate it. Any help would be tremendous. Thank you much for your continued support.
true love doesn’t end in loud noises
it doesn’t explode like fireworks or implode like dying stars
no, it ends in hushed whispers in dark rooms
with silence ringing out in two sets of ears
where a pin drop is a nuclear detonation
true love doesn’t end in violence
but in devotion stretched to its limits
in hands clutched tight in the face of death
defiant in defeat, humbled in its failure
and ultimately, hearts finally breaking for the right reasons.
We are all just matches surrounded by oceans. Creativity is the spark; let fire by your legacy.
Stark white, flecked with green
As stunning as my eyes have seen.
How pessimistic I had been
To think that I could leave this scene.
It resonates through every word
The one’s I’ve spoken, those I’ve heard.
I feel it bite my fingertips
And linger on my shattered lips.
The naked trees that bare their skin
To show us how foolish we’ve been.
We always get so wrapped up in
The warmth of life, in summer’s sin.
Along the way we lost our touch
For loving how the cold is such
A gentle kiss, it isn’t much
That wanders far from nature’s clutch.
it’s quiet here.
the buzzing sound and periodic explosions
have subsided, giving way to
the gentle crashing of waves against concrete
and a cool breeze blowing through the trees.
on a clear day, the horizon gleams brightly
staring back at me as I have done to it
every night since the cold dissipated.
nothing stirs, nothing hurts anymore.
am I just numb to the tidal waves?
or have my demons finally gone away?
eloquent misdirections, tender lies
her roses left thorns in all my fever dreams
and I smell them still once I wake up.
she is the cheshire cat that smiles in the darkness
and the vice that is clamped on my spine
tightening my rib cage into a casket.
she follows me through the hallways of my thoughts
locking every door that I managed to close
my short-lived escapes, I always plead for release.
I have wrung my hands and broken bones
banging on the bathroom wall until
the tiles crack and fall into the bathtub.
a knock at the door, a towel around my shoulders
she whispers word that I can’t hear
or can’t bear to entertain, like unwelcome guests.
paralyzed by guilt, silenced by anger
her crocodile tears are enough to drown my doubts
but not enough to put out my fiery devotion.
I almost wish they could’ve swallowed me whole.