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impress

i could throw together
an adjective or two
and those words
may just impress you
for only a minute or two

but of all the words
i write in english
or with my pen
none could ever bring
the true meaning
of my love for you
until times' end

you see when my bones grow old and brittle
and my skin begins to wrinkle
these words will stand tall and true
they'll never ever alter in their view

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empty

The flames flicker
Red hot coals
Pulsating
A rhythmic glow
My love burning
Time through the glass
And
You

Choosing the burn
Elevate the pain
I have nothing left

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I know, sweetheart

I’ve been fooled before
just as you have
with stories
and smiles and situations
that make us feel as though,
there
it
is.
there’s the feeling
there’s the one
only to find out,

it’s just another thanksgiving meal
not quite Christmas
not quite all hallows eve

So we rest in being fooled
and we laugh along
because the fool isn’t something done
on purpose
it’s just done.

we laugh along because we don’t
want them to know it hurts
we don’t want them to know the pain…
and it’s our hearts that suffer through it
moreover than theirs.

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hardest


the hardest part
of you and i
is not in saying hello
but in saying
goodbye

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I tell everyone......

 

I tell everyone about you

 

I tell them of the sunlight in your smile, the ocean in your eyes. I tell

them how my love for you is a mountain. Unshakeable. I tell them how you loved

me once but like the forest you grew too fast and i was lost in the undergrowth

as you reached for the heavens.

 

I try to explain that my love for you is not destructive and though one sided as it

is, you make me well. My failings diminish and I feel almost worthy of attention

but there is only one who's attention I seek to hold. But you look to the sea shore as I

float to snow covered peaks, my soul; no longer burdened by twenty-one grams is

carried to heights by a dreamers dream of lightning dancing with water. I try to

explain that my love for you is not destructive

 

I tell them how I love you and now they don't call me anymore because they

cannot understand how I speak of love and it tastes like pain. They cannot

understand the chaos of longing unreturned tattooed across my brow even as your

name stains my lips with joy as it spills forth

 

I try to explain with a smile but the tears fall. I smile and cry all at once

and my voice fails me for your residue in my soul lifts me to such heights that

I cannot breathe. The boundaries of the sky are not for the living so I am torn

back to the dust and mud by the gravity of your face turning away from mine,

crashing down with anchors around my waist sculpted by words said in haste only to

be reworked and shaped for another. Words hung in both our galleries but I know

the form and flow, it is not a new piece He holds but one stolen from the walls

in me and replaced with counterfeit nothings. Watermarks cannot be reproduced

and those that stain my face are far from dry.

 

Does He know that those words painted on his chest are mine? That the art

staining his flesh is an echo of the masterpiece that you sketched across my

bones? They are watercolors that leak from my broken eyes, I am losing you one

drop at a time but you are an ocean and I will shed floods of you and still

drown each morning

 

Some have said move on, some say get over it.

 

But there is nowhere to move on the mountains peak, how can I get over you

when you are Everest? I am standing on top of the world and there is but one

place higher, though I am not Icarus. You know, it takes forty two and a half

seconds to fall from the roof of the world. Thats seventy three i love you's and damn it if i

dont say them every time...

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Words do no justice

 

I dreamt in poetry last night, I cannot remember a single word but I felt the art in my bones. Tried as I did to recall the pentameter it eluded my thoughts, fleeting shadows of metaphor and beauty. But you were there. This I know.

The image was spring mist and pastel blur, shifting heart-swells carried me aloft. I felt you rather than witnessed and that was far more tangible for the viewing. Perhaps there was not poetry as verse or couplet but movement and sensation, the enchanting poetry of your soul infused with my dreamscape. Whatever the truth of brushstrokes laid on masterpieces of desire, we were there and poetry was your sweet breath across my cheek.

I dreamt in poetry last night and awoke to find the stanzas contained no words, only you.

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Life Magic

It is said that shooting stars grant wishes

In truth, these lost souls trying to make their way back to Earth carry wishes of their own. Ancient wishes of love lost but not forgotten, for these stars once walked the land very much like we do.

It began a millennia ago when magic was as simple as a breath or a look, when spirits took shape and danced among the fledgling contours of what are now called mountains. The spirits enjoyed peace for an age, singing enchanting silken webs across the expanse of stone and dust.

All were happy

As the ghosts of life and birth spun their magic and created in the greatest feats of art ever known there grew a great darkness (for light cannot exist without its silent brother) and this darkness became Man. The spirits continued to revel in creation not knowing the threat to all they knew, for how can a soul know pain until after the first pinprick?

These wisps of purity twirled and dived, meeting each other in great bursts of light. Shining parts met to become a whole and as each joining was completed a new life was created. Tiger was called one. Willow another, yet more still as life borne of love was realized in the high magic of dawns beginnings.

Man as he grew through magic of his own, watched with jealous desire. Wishing to own the secret of creation. He schemed and contrived to steal the magic off these joyous beings so he could mold life to serve his own ends but there was one - named Woman - who listened at the mouth of Man’s lair as he plotted. Woman, though a creation of the same balancing magic that created Man, could not let the evil plan go ahead at the detriment of the unwary spirits curling around on ground and in sky, she must warn them.

And so she journeyed far and long, beseeching any who would know her warning to come near and take heed. But spirits speak not the tongue of tangible things and her cries fell on ears that did not exist in our fashion. And so she wept great salty tears that filled the low lying places for a thousand years until these canyons were full and her heart tender, at this the spirits took leave from their heady dance (those that were left, as they now only numbered in the millions) and descended upon weary Woman.

Unable to explain the fate that would surely befall them Woman felt she had no option, she must show them what was to become of them should they not protect their magic.

She swallowed one.

At this the spirits suddenly understood pain and using their magic flew off and away in every direction, leaving the Earth unfinished and Woman alone. But there was one still who remained, that inside of Woman. At the sudden silence Man became enraged as he had finally devised a way to steal life energy by swallowing it (for as all spirits understood pain as one of theirs learned, so too did Man learn at the same time as Woman felt life inside her)

Leaping from his lair, Man let out an awful scream and all the world as far as could be seen in every direction became dark. But lo! as darkness spread and took root on the horizons, Man and Woman both stared skyward for there above them where all the spirits who had fled. Sparkling out of reach in the firmament, longing to rescue their abandoned Sister

Man grew to let go of his thirst for magic, though darkness still takes root in his heart

Woman grew to embrace the life-magic within and carries the secret to this day

Star spirits still fly through the darkness from time to time, longing to finish their magic and collect their fallen Sister

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Solaris kai Lunitari

 

As night trickles in

Helios hovers off shore

Bringing you my love

.

Day breaks on your skin

As Selene bathes mine, milk white

Pure as hearts desire

.

Half of Gaia’s girth

Spreads betwixt and between we

Sun and Moon our guise

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One last song before you go - A jayarrarr prompt

 

There is a symphony behind your eyes

A crescendo that builds on the corners of your smile

When I look at you it is music

Sweet, powerful. Moving

The lyric of your a cappella laughter drives me to duet

Sing to me as only you can, lift me with that falsetto spirit

Carry me through the day on chords of joy

There is a soundtrack to all lives and yours,

With cadence that speaks beyond language

Has infused itself in my score

The night is almost upon us, but my heart’s three-four beat

Begs

Leave me not mid set

One last song before you go? 

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Does it make a sound?

I am tired

Closing eyes and forgetting the world seems small comfort yet I take it as it is, an escape from broken branches and a rotting stump. Branches that once reached for lofty heights, supple lengths filled with life and growth. Now dry, cracked. Brittle. Strewn about waiting for savage fires embrace as kindling, as this is the measure of their worth now realised

The stump that once connected roots deep and far reaching to their sky loving counterparts slowly decaying in the wake of moss, termite and age. Failing as all grand things must in their time, a pathetic remnant of strength once envied.

I am tired

What impossible destruction visited to once proud flora, what insidious reduction of life to ruin. I have grown, flourished and fallen to the elements. No water may quench the thirst of my despair, no sun rays may invigorate that which hastens to dark disrepair. The forest mourns but all are static and reach in vain to a fallen willow

I am tired

Spread my shrinking substance across the hungry undergrowth, let all within my radius take sustenance from my meager offerings. This is my final gift, a far cry from hearth and home that offered sanctuary and shade but it is what I have left to imbue.

Sleep comes swift and the leaves are of sienna hue, there is naught I can do to resist the approaching Fall. Perhaps in time the acorn may take hold and what I once was might reclaim towering observance, but earthen nurseries are sparse. Creeper vines thick. The weather unforgiving.

And I am so very tired…