Tag: poetry

Regret

Sorry will never be enough

Merely words that will always fall short

Of tears that refuse to be shed.

Guilt is a useless thing

A weight that drags and drowns

Muddling reason and rhyme.

Sorrow’s crushing might

Foreshadows faltering steps

Sinking into shame.

Tendrils of perception dulled

From jagged pieces of memories

Tarnished in time.

Broken paradise

Falling like brittle stars

Aflame in their own malfeasance.

Bitter stones impacting

Leaving scars of circumstance

Without chance of recompense.

Fame without fortuitous planning

Caving into doubt

Halting progress and elation.

Illusion shattered

Images fractured and forsaken

Lost to sounds without a name.

Alaska Found

He spoke of drizzles and hurricanes

Like people were weather patterns

Unpredictably complex

Wrapped in mists and winds

Of varying intensities.

He spoke of sleeping

Like night was something to revel in

Instead of dread

With its dark passages and eerie sounds.

He cast her bronze skin in silver linings

Like clouds that only seemed to promise rain

When summer heat became too harsh

And throats parched for relief.

He spoke of her ecstatic beauty

Curves that defied description

And forced admission of a higher power

Whose creation beg its worship.

He spoke of her as a dream he always had

Yet never realized or appreciated

Till the light of day dispelled her life.

He spoke of her passing

Like a faltering breeze

That toppled trees

And fed the all consuming blaze.

He spoke of her warm taste

That lingered on his tongue

Like words unspoken in vanilla

And old cigarettes mixed with wine.

He wrote her out of the labyrinth

But always seemed to find her there

Searching—

Clawing at the walls for some escape

From her inability to forgive herself

And forget the times she was never enough.

She was a storm in his eyes

And she never saw in their reflection

Her capacity for changing misconceptions

And the truth

That while all storms bring destruction,

Sometimes you have to break—

Before you can build again.

Love Never Dries

How oft the brittle well

Will give drink in drought

To those who need it more.

Each drop a weakening sigh,

Recognition of the coming sleep

As parched lips pray for one more.

Cups filled with survival

At the cost of living;

Broken hearts mending broken souls.

Till rain comes again

Drenching the world in kind

With love deeper than any well.

Rest

On the road is where I belong

Always passing through

But never staying–

Long enough to get attached.

The cares are drowned in the rush of wind

And the silence of the nights

Barren of human life.

The stars are my companions

The moon, my vacant candle

Illumination unmerited by fate.

Pictures are all I have of memories

Faded, brittle prisons of thoughts

Scattered upon the dash and floor,

Marked by muddy footprints

And salty snow. 

I sleep in my haven

Of gentle woodland grove

And find the dreams that catch me there

Are the only ones worth chasing.

Purpose Unsaid

What are my words

To the blind, mute and deaf?

Illegible scrawling by a broken hand

Twisting and falling

Failing to realign the sailor off-course.

What are lines to mountains

When shapes and grooves

Bend and snake their way

With rough mannerisms

And heavy tongues?

What are songs to the valleys

Whose melodies ring triumphant

And the wind recalls nary a note,

Its stanzas superior to man?

What are feelings to the ocean

Wide, deep and wise

Untainted by regret?

What is love

To the willow by the lake

Whose hair dips low?

What is hate

To the moss underneath?

These I ponder as I lie awake

Yet I still write…

For what?

To live, not merely survive.

Of Alaska

“You are not a real person”

Those were her words

Unpolished, yet whole

Sincere

Nothing more and yet,

Need there be?

Her scent upon my coat

I lie in warmth unrelenting

Pressing luck like flowers

Polaroid stills of perfect sighs

Stuck between clear sleeves

Transparent phrases and gestures

Frozen in time,

Suspended in animation

Of feelings I suppress and deny

Refusing my admission

Heretofore so clear.

“Real people don’t think that.”

Yes. Yes they do,

But they lack the words to express

The feeling of caressing

Your ears with truth.

It is my gift to describe

Exactly how you make me feel

And yours to make it so inadequate.

Shades of Silence

Your smile shatters my thoughts

Sending shards of bitterness,

Brittle traces of cognition

Conditioned to your grace.

Your laughter shakes my soul,

Dislodged logic careening

Scattering upon the floor

Plans and designs unmet.

Like fragments of light

Fracturing upon your hair

Lines of color, hue and depth

Reflect unborn words.

Still life portraits of our days

Hang in solemn places

Secluded and unjustly set,

Ashes mingled with acrylic.

Textured phrases pass our lips

Brushing crimson on pale faces

Alive with shades of warmth

Gently across a perfect canvas.

Traces of your heart stain your hands

Shadows of your creations

Dotted like constellations unseen,

Otherworldly beautiful chaos.

Imperfect Lenses

A ruffled feather in the wind

Tossed in airy waves

Churned by notions of grandeur

Such is the beginnings of love.

Clouded eyes reflect illusions

Where personalities are lost

In representations of perception

Pantomime performances

By clowns with broken limbs

Signing a language they don’t know

Or will ever try to understand.

When you say “I love you,”

To whom are you speaking?

The man or the vision

The woman or the dream

The human

Or the fantasy

Designed to pleasure the creator?

Can you truly believe

That your snapshot can portray

The billion words and thoughts

That dot the constellations

That guide their every day?

Can you call this love?

Some do.