Tag: creative writing

Sonnet for a Fallen Friend

Like grass so green, his eyes capture my soul

And raven’s wing his heart a fleeting song

His mouth so sharp each word doth take its toll

And ne’er a plight I e’re held to for long

His skin, it shines so bright and cold and clear

Like midnight oil I grasp and hold in dark

Clutched to my breast like truth I hold so dear

And fan to flame once was a little spark

His fiery hands they burn inside my head

Like thoughts so warm and close they fall from grace

Each breath I hear my ears they feel so dead

And hope descends, like morning, to its place

I part my lips and speak his name like ash

And feel the waves, like agony, and crash

Co-lapsing

You are not to blame

When the weight of your pain

Decreases your will to give;

A collapsing star may burn more brightly,

But you, my dear, are more than dust.

You are more than fears,

You are more than hands

Outstretched and thinned

Reaching toward the helpless.

You are more than endless nights

With a heart and ears heavier that steel,

Breathing in the words

They heave upon your own.

You are not worth less,

Because they cannot hear you.

You are not worth less,

Because they refuse to.

You are not worth less,

Because they forgot to…

Because I forgot to…

You are not to blame

When the weight of your tongue

Leads you to silence

For that same voice that gives to rest

Must rest also receive. 

Sifting Thoughts

I.

I swallow apologies like sand,

Because without the weight of change

They’ll float away in the wind,

Regardless of intent.

II. 

I fill my lungs with mud

Trying to inhale peace,

Struggling to breathe

While words dribble down my chin.

III.

I sit in silence as a stone

Layered with years of regret

Culminating in several moments of muffled speech

I am awake, but I am not yet.

Ransomed Heart

Was it a trick of the light

When I saw a reflection of my skin

Threads interwoven, pulled thin

Faded orange and green

With starlight dimmed in freckled eyes

And tear stained pillows

Disguised

As something in-between?

A mirror hanging loose

Attracts your fading lips

Takes a breath

And sighs into your hips,

As walls marked with fingerprints

Of yellow, blue and white

Trickle into shadow

And fade from sight.

A whispered windowed pane of glass

Fractures into snow

And falls through its home

Into a dream below,

Settled sleep measured out

And dropped soft like a kiss.

Muffled Sparks

The days fell apart

Like eyelids and broken hearts

Opened wide and filled with dark

Inside a vacant home.

The nights were often long

Like rope and summer songs

Running fast and warm like rain

In the middle of a storm.

The oceans have since dried

Like sand and empty skies

Drained with bones inside

A once majestic space. 

Her finger draws to close

A promise and a rose

Dressed in thorns and blooming slow

In a garden now erased.

Love is Black and White

I don’t do halfhearted.

I can’t do at arms-length.

You’re either here,

Or you’re gone;

There’s no in-between for me.

Leave the grays behind

For lesser things than love.

Love has to be clear, vibrant, and distinct,

Bright and in my face.

Love has to be grounded in today,

Not easily swayed by yesterday

Or the worries that wrinkle tomorrow’s face.

So leave your limp waves

And your false smiles outside

For they are not welcome

Within the walls of my heart

Or where my soul abides. 

Sometimes Quiet is Violent

I have always woven silence

Into threads that tread upon my heart

Like choking back tears between notes

And filling the void with empty sparks.

I fumble the voice of reason

Into a crowded scene

Full of flashing lights

And undocumented dreams.

Where all are pointing fingers

Sharpened like tacks, 

My soul a pin cushion

For days I’ll never get back.

Overnight never tasted so burnt before,

Intentions scrapped like scraps,

Like wilted lettuce and overripe tomatoes

Tossed into the trash.

I wait and wait and wait

But the weight is still the same

It’s pulling on my lips,

Overwhelming my veins. 

Over time the silence dissipates

By then the damage has won

In a mere moment, I am broken

In a second, I am undone.

I’m picking up the pieces of my tongue

Where my teeth missed the mark

Sinking bone into flesh

To alleviate the pain of words

Spoken too often in haste

Cleaving ideas with bitter thoughts

Of too many mistakes. 

Intimate Isolation

There is such intimacy in closeness,

To hear the sounds of the living,

Each individual breath

Catching at first,

Then settling into a rhythm,

Like a hitch within a storm,

The letting up of rain

Before a second downpour…

The rising and falling of the chest

And the grumbling of soft stomachs,

Like thunder in the distance.

Breathing individual scents

To get a sense of who they are,

What they do,

What they enjoy,

Is such a delight…

Warm honey, mingled with cinnamon.

Lavender,

A hint of jasmine tucked under the sleeve,

And the tracings of vanilla on the spine

Pooling into a collection of memories

And suppositions of where they were

Or could be.

The feel of warmth spreading through your chest,

Touching your fingertips,

Bringing them out of the isolation of each digit

Calculating each stroke and caress

Each pause,

Each mark on skin

Both indelible and yet forgiving…

Quieting the need to awaken,

And accepting the approaching calm

While stifling the flinch that arises

With each seemingly bated breath.

The taste of silence

On lips softer than the harsh reality

That dreams must be awakened from

But not now,

Not yet,

In this moment you can taste fleeting freedom

That latches on as tight as you,

For once…

Candied sweetness and yet,

 Something more than temporary fullness,

A lingering weight,

But not a burdensome one

Rather a satiated cry for connections

You once thought were forever lost.