Author: kaelvas

A Response Weighed

My phone weighs heavy on my heart,

Words unspoken and sublime.

Cracks in both feel so brittle;

Can you feel life between the lines?

My phone weighs heavy on my soul,

An anchor dragging as it falls.

Can you see the ripples fading,

As it carries me in tow?

My phone weighs heavy in my mind,

See the blood begin to drain.

All is gray now in my sight,

As the warmth fades to rain.

My phone weighs heavy in my hand,

Maybe metal, maybe stone.

I grasp it tightly for reprieve,

But it only helps to grieve.

Banshee’s Foe

In my early years I heard a tale

Of woe and death and ache;

The high pitched screams

That made our houses quake.

All down the streets,

Parents awake

Grab their ears

And in silence shake;

Praying to old gods

And new for a break.

For piercing shrieks

These beasts would make,

Tearing through stone

Through roads and lake,

Till none knew escape

Though all ran for their sake.

The recorder, a foul curse

Whose song could slay a drake,

Played by that awful devil,

A 5-year-old named Jake.

Chamomile & Honey

Breathless joy,

And echoing laughter in the night.

A soul lifted,

Brightened and polished by your presence.

A day,

Made bearable by your words.

Vulnerability,

Un-shielded in your arms.

Mere echoes,

These shouts into ink that reach for you.

Speechless,

My tongue tripping over all the things I love

About you.

Burnout

My thoughts are wriggling,

Thrashing in my overcooked brain.

Waves of heat radiate through my body

As tendrils crawl into my chest.

I am suffocating on my own experiences,

Choking on each second

Acutely aware of each breath

I know I cannot take.

A sharp metallic tang fills my nose,

Like metal grinding against bone–

Fracturing foundations like fingerprints

Pressed relentlessly into my skull.

I am falling asleep,

Yawning until I cannot see.

Exhaustion is all I can taste,

A slick oily sheen coated with sweetness.

I wake up a shell,

Memories intact.

Still tired.

So tired.

I combust and collapse.

Naught but ashes left

Of a well-worn soul.

Lazy Afternoon

With my lips on your spine,

I count down the days left.

Each vertebra is a week,

And we’re reaching a middle.

Your back arches inward;

I’ve hit a ticklish spot.

I rest my head there,

Lazily writing love with my fingers.

I can feel your smile,

Radiating in the warmth.

We are content,

In this lazy afternoon.

We are home,

And not a moment too soon.

I wrap my arms around you,

Gently assuring you deserve goodness.

Kindness is less alien now,

But you’re still acclimating.

Your spine is a timeline,

Each vertebra a moment you were broken.

You’ve pieced peace together,

Often haphazardly over the years.

But now it’s becoming clearer

And in your heart you can believe.

A dream awaits on a distant shore,

And all you have to do is fly.

Pressed for Remembrance

Her breath was a bouquet,

Stripped of thorns,

Cut down to size,

Convenient.

Her words a mere display

Left wilting

In a vase too small

To nourish so grand a soul.

He peeled her petals

And peddled her gifts

Looking for depths

She always hid.

Evasive, her scent was fleeting;

Hesitant to linger–

She pressed herself between pages,

Preferring to leave her love there.

A token of her memories,

Mere impressions of her heart,

Stained with ink and winter’s loss.