Posts Tagged ‘Nature’

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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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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The day came upon us like Indian rain,

And with it, our fruits of labor grew,

Seeds that we’d been planting for months now,

All twenty-six of us, savages,

Nestled halfway between the Florida sun

And the storm steadily brewing in the distance.


When we danced, we sounded like a thunderclap,

Our feet ferociously pounding upon the pavement.

The beads on the hems of our T-shirts

Swung like pendulums,

And our painted faces gleamed with sweat.

The sound of the beating drum,

Thump thump, thump thump,

Woven together with the lonesome melody of a flute—

That was our heartbeat, that was the sound of the spirits

Watching us as we twirled in the midst of crystal droplets.


I still remember his clammy hand in mine,

The broken savage with the big brown eyes—

Two stars about to blink away before the dawn—

He and I.

I slipped off my feather earrings and

Stepped into the storm.

Thump thump, thump thump.

My beating heart willing me to look back.

But I never did, I never did.


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There is someone standing on the corner of

Upside-Down and


He is silhouetted against the backdrop of Night;

He is silhouetted by the light of Day.

He is lost to those who know him,

He has been found by those who don’t.

He is happy and sad

And pleased and mad and

Every feeling, every color in between.

His life is red and blue,

Wine and water

Spilled onto the floor

And seeping into the carpet.

Lights turned on again and off again,

Indecisive and certain of his purpose.


What purpose?

Would he,

Could he,

Should he,

Fit into the circle when he is a square?

The beginning has wound to an end;

The end is only beginning.

Waiting for nothing;

Waiting for absolutely

Without a doubt




At the corner of Right-Side-Up

And Upside-Down.

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The stars in your eyes—

Ne’er could such a humble sight

Be any more grand.


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How could I be happy with someone who isn’t you?

How could I be happy when you’re not there to be happy too?

How could I want someone else now that we have met?

How could I go about using someone else to help me forget?

How could I be satisfied with stars now that I’ve seen the sun?

How could I want to reach the end when it’s only just begun?

How could I let you slip away when I’ve wanted you for years?

How could I ponder it all without being struck by tears?

How could I let my fate be so recklessly told?

How could I settle for steel after feasting my eyes upon gold?

How could I watch one of those fools try to steal my heart?

How could I let my dreams of you be suddenly torn apart?

How could I turn the page when I’m still stuck on your word?

How could I forget your voice—the prettiest thing I’ve heard?

How could I let myself be weak when I’ve sworn to be tough?

How could I admit that of you I haven’t had enough?

How could I submit to their smiles when they do not compare?

How could I let my eyes drift closed when I see you everywhere?

In all these questions, one word to me stands out—

If I can’t claim your love as mine, then “how?”



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My days—my precious days!—where do they go


When I’m immersed in dreams of you and I?


My time—my treasured time!—how it does fly!


This fantasy of mine is all I know,


For when I’m living life I am in woe,


And my foe, Anguish, is whom I defy


With these dreams in which there is no goodbye


And no reason to ever say hello.


My love has not been false to any end;


Reality appears to have no heart—


If anything it wants for us to part,


For it does not show sympathy to truth.


It seems as though Anguish is its best friend:


The adversary of the love-struck youth.


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Jill’s been waiting on a hill for long as she remembers—

She’s cold and all alone in this last week before November.

Jack is walking by and finds this aforementioned hill;

He decides to make the climb and that’s when he meets Jill.


Jack is nothing special, but there’s something in his eyes—

Jill is something special, but it’s never realized.

Nonetheless, Jack thinks that maybe this hill could be home—

He grins at Jill, and she forgets she was ever alone.


They kid around until they’re tired of their own jokiness—

He loves how her laugh bubbles out with every word he says.

Each time his gaze darts toward her, she sees and can’t help but wonder

If he, too, might be falling for this spell she’s been put under.


But one day Jack decides that it’d be best if he returned—

His friends are waiting down below and surely they’re concerned.

Jill, crossing her arms, is forced to swallow down her pride—

She turns her face away from him so he won’t see her cry.


Jack leaves the hill, but so does Jill—the latter in a huff;

She tromps her way down to the ground, cursing her own bad luck.

She hopes that she won’t ever find someone like Jack again—

A boy who seems so perfect but who’ll break her in the end.


Meanwhile, Jack forgot to fetch that damned old pail of water—

He climbs the hill just like he did the first day that he saw her.

Jill is at the bottom while she watches it with glee:

Jack falls down and there’s no one who’s as broken as he.


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I don’t know you—save for my biased observations

From the past three or so years—

Three or so years because I have always been watching,

And biased because you have always been perfect—

To me.


You don’t know me—save for a casual glance here

And a few casual words exchanged there

When your path finally strayed in my direction

And our eyes locked at last—a meeting that could only have been planned

By Fate itself.


It lasted for minutes, but I swore it went by in a second—

Mere minutes it lasted—I managed to stretch it out for days—

Days flew by and I hoped for more—more of you—

Fanciful scenarios condensed themselves into sideways glimpses—

Now it’s been weeks.


I don’t know you, and you don’t know me,

But I say we lay down under the stars and stare up at the moon

And whisper about just how ignorant we are of one another—

When, really, what we know is all we need—

You and I.


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It’s a breaking that takes you

And leaves you breathless—

So miserable, so shut in the dark—

Too tired to ever fall asleep.


It’s a song that you play at night

When you want all to be fixed

And returned to the way it was,

But redemption seems so hopeless.


It’s the element of surprise

When you are forgiven for mistakes

That hurt like sharp daggers

And flood you with regret.


But still you are left breathless

Because joy is like pain

In this strange, twisted way—

There never seems to be enough air.


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