Category: man, love, poem, poetry

I bless thus thee,
‘Go do your deed’

And a curse to even;
‘When there is no need’

I have a polaroid,
Of you laughing at me.
And I look at it,
Once, every night,
And smile, and smile.

I know I have come far away,
Here the sea wrestles each day,
Against the pulp of morn,
And I with it,
Toss and turn,
Upon the garish foams,
Abandoned.

Your memory; akin to the skin of the sand I shape
Each night within me,
Lies awake,
Staring at the stars,
At the infinite expanse of the void,
Proverbially silent.

You shipwrecked beauty!
The oasis of my existence
Halts no more upon your oceans,
Chained to tempests,
No longer I stand a witness,
To your countless odysseys,
And weep moonlight,
Under crystal skies.

I stay here, nestled upon the edge
Of an arrival,
Torn between love and reason,
Life and loss,
Fingers entwined,
Heart uncrossed.

These random days;
Unending ivy hours,
Reminds me of you,
Eclipsed under a full moon,
Swimming under transparent blankets,
Like shadow underwater,
Leaning away into depths,
Far deeper than any sun could fathom.

These random days,
The blank restlessness, of the far wall,
Staring away into Oblivion,
Reminds me of you,
And your feathers, strewn across floor,
Like borrowed rainbow,
Tinged with stardust, raindrops, and raven rust of stark twilight.

These random days,
The gathering thunderstorm, dry leaves sailing lovelorn,
Against the grey crests of light,
Reminds me of you,
Hiding behind my back, with secrets upon those lips,
And my heart a shard of glass,
Under your diamond fingertips.

In this wafer thin world,
My mirror holds together,
Your palpable smile.

I live there somewhere,
Buried; under warm hollow bricks,
Dreaming and dreaming,
Ringlets of flowers, raindrops of gold,
And of you reading a blank page,
Written one hundred ways.

Your name is a shape,
Or a flower or a bird,
Dahlia, Paloma or some rounded word,
You are the poem, I the paper,
You are as ivory and I a leper;
Waiting to talk yet walking away quiet,
Dismal of dark but afraid of light.

You smell of shade,
Along a long lost road,
Dressed like a farm, a sea of azure night,
Auburn hair, and grey eyes bright,
When did we grow, into this hour
Of longing madness,
Coiling itself through our hearts,
Like creepers circling the dead elms?

It’s past midnight, here,
And the waves are turning back,
Humming an echoing ebb, of times
Wept into single drop of chorused sunshine.
Your bare back,
Arched like waterfall,
Rests upon my eyes; eyes
Still yearning, along the crowded shore,
One amongst many like many amidst more.
All strangers to me as I am to you,
In this tangible tremor of life.

Random musings; this pillow feels soft,
Feathers abound, thoughts aloft.

There was an abandoned bench,
In a corner of December,
Where every story started,
Afore her departure,
Now nothing remains, there, here and everywhere,
Nothing but holes,
Inch deep, muddy and wriggling with worms.

Fare-thee-well.

I was born on a faultless plain,
Nestled in meadows of eternal spring,
They said my roots were to know this land,
And to rise were my breathless wings.

So I dove in the black, moist palms,
To wet my yearning feet,
Years aging unto eons,
Never to ever meet.

I lost my one limb there,
In the mud of deep old lore,
Where myths came hourly alive,
But the men exist no more.

Bruised I was and battered,
In thirst my blossom fell,
Yet for seasons I said nothing,
Only waved as all was well.

Until one brutal summer day,
When that long end felt near,
A bird perched upon my person,
And drank deep from my tears.

It whispered in my hands,
“Why you weep like a broken tree,
When with wings such as yours
One will cross a mighty sea?” Hearing her I cried, And buried my oaken heart,
Shred myself to pieces,
Broke my roots apart.

My new soul; it was flesh,
My new flesh; it was pink,
My muddied wings spelled ivory,
Against that sea, seething with ink.

There were stories in the tide,
I remember what they said,
” You fly over the faces,
Of dreams cast away to dead.”

But I felt no love for my shadow,
Left behind to be lied,
My eyes were upon that sun,
Which shone on the other side.

The sea runs unending still,
Calling me to turn,
But I had tasted new sunlight,thus
I burn, I burn, I burn.

Though I was born on a faultless plain,
Nestled in meadows of eternal spring,
My roots weren’t to know my land, And I am yet to bet my wings.

Let these quiet moments fester no more,
Into fear you deem worldly divine,
Long through this vision laid on dust,
Dies a truth of another time.

Such fair dread did come my way,
On the eve of that other day,
When all lost and losing found their steps,
Hands tied; holding wrathful grapes,
And came to me with a rhyming plea,
Hollow like the warm depths of sea.

I said to them as I say to you,
‘ I hold no land held by secrets new,
All I have and all I dare,
Is to be simply still and do not care,
For I have come to an untenable pass,
A foe I desire to not surpass,
To which I cannot hold a light,
Against which my piety says nay to fight,
As I no longer need reasons to fail;
None is needed, thus all is well.’

They too as you, then turned their back,
As you they too, do something lack,
The truth about that ever happening might,
Which burns the day, which blinds the night.

Too many rainbows,
Claim this place,
It’s no wonder the sky prefers black;
As the color of consciousness.

I wish to be,
The world you see,
If you dream of a place,
Devoid of me.

And I may never know,
The answer,
You let it fall too quickly,
One midnight blue,
But I hold the moon; that corroded dime,
A collateral,
For our forgotten time.

I wish I could watch you,
Take a breath,
So the wheel halts, it’s macabre stride,
And your smile,
Sifts the wrinkled veil,
Of our endless moments,
Lying still.

The world is full of impossible things,
And you claim half of it.