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Posts Tagged ‘Life’

meet me in October,

and we can relive

that moment when

the focus of my life

 

became trying to get

outside of this fence that

chains me in—

holds me in—

and into your heart,

into your mind,

never regretting a thing.

 

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Thoughtful onlooker—

The world is alive; you watch,

Petrified in stone.

 

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You are my color—

Every hue, every tint is part of a masterpiece,

Which only now has been unveiled to me:

A work of swirling shades and dizzying tinges,

Of impeccable details woven together into a vision

That makes the onlooker gasp and the artist beam with pride.

You are the sky after the storm,

When the rain turns into drops of the sun

And the flashes of lighting surrender to your fireworks,

Whose crashes and booms will away the song of thunder.

Your eyes are blind, you cannot see what I behold,

But your words are art; you are my color—

The only splash of paint in a world of charcoal.

 

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Throwing pebbles that skim the surface—

The water’s depths will always remain a mystery.

If you spoke to the fish, they would tell you

That I’m wading in my mind’s shallow sea

And glimpsing at you through the waves—

You, the moon who quietly ebbs the tides.

 

A self-absorbed onlooker is all I am.

You are the only one who can pull me away

From my own mind, from my own surface.

 

All the world’s wonders combined, I see in you;

The Great Pyramid a mere pile of blocks

And the Taj Mahal a tombstone—

New York City a small town, if you’ve never been there,

And if you have, a world in and of itself.

 

We step in the same circles and lines.

Your air is mine, and the wind that caresses your face

Is the wind that tangles my hair and whispers to me

Things of the past, things beyond this wretched present,

 

Where we are unchained bandits and uncensored gamblers

Who put our money on the things we tell others

And choke on words left unsaid face-to-face.

Others forget, we never forget—

We never learn, we never try.

 

And so I wonder if silence is truly golden,

Lips glued shut, tongue dry,

My eyes cast down and yours like they were that October day

When all this started.

Yet—this is nothing, nothing at all on the surface.

 

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From here, I can see the world.

The ocean blues of the sky and the sky blues of the ocean,

The milky dawn and the purple twilight acting as bookends

For the expanse of time in which the sun’s rays shine.

And then the stars—oh how the stars blink into existence

As the moon rises gracefully into its own perch—

But not as splendid a perch as mine.

From here, I watch the people.

They act as if they are alone, not watched by even God,

And it is endearing to see them—

To see them dancing when the rain drizzles,

The light of the street lamps making halos around them.

To hear them singing under their breath, whistling, humming,

Throwing their head back as they laugh.

I watch them as they fall in love and fall in despair

And hug their arms around them when it’s cold,

And in the heat, their faces turn shiny—they feel it all.

I feel it all.

But they don’t even think to look up.

I watch them in silence, always watching

From this magnificent, isolated perch I found.

 

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Trying to forget

Is much harder than

Trying to forgive,

 

For apologies tend to

Close old wounds

And patch everything up

 

Whereas forgetting leaves

An unsightly scar

That will never fade.

 

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Maybe when September comes,

I won’t feel so much pain,

And when the leaves receive their gold,

I too something will gain.

 

Maybe when September comes,

My mind will start to clear;

I’ll forget everything that passed

In the fateful mid-year.

 

Maybe when September comes,

My scars will start to fade,

And as the air turns crisp and cold,

I won’t feel so betrayed.

 

Maybe when September comes,

My lucky stars will shine,

And through the lonely nights, I’ll dream

Of all that once was mine.

 

Maybe when September comes,

I’ll find an open door

That leads me back to summer so

You’ll come to me once more.

 

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Wasting your time

Is the most marvelous thing

You could ever do—

When the clouds start to pour

And the light turns to gray—

And you want nothing more

Than to sit down by the fire

With a steaming cup of coffee

And watch as the seconds tick away

On your brutally honest clock,

For although you may take a rest,

Time never stops.

 

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I cannot bear any longer

To hear the dreadful sounds

Of their whispers and yells—

Of the silence that ensues.

 

Play me a melody,

For their songs are off-key,

And you always manage

To strike the right notes.

 

The white-and-black surface

Hides your life story—

A story of mournful ballads

And longing for a different tune.

 

Play me a lullaby,

And I’ll pray you’re granted

The same kind of tranquility

As you give to me.

 

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h

I’m sorry, my dear—

The barrier between us

Is too strong to breach.

h

h

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