Tag: spilled ink

Sonnet for the Hills

I ache to feel the touch of morning rays

Across the hills of evergreen and red

Embraced by early Autumn’s timid gaze

Upon the leaves her lips, so soft, have bled

In hues of yellow orange and brown I weep

Until my time to flee this place so numb

I’ll out to pasture roam with stars like sheep

And wander through the night till overcome

The trees have whispered to their fingers “wait”

Our ears are closed and halt the shaking voice

Our minds to silence thoughts tangled with fate

Until they’re felled by axes of our choice

I ache to feel the touch of morning sun

But only after through the veil I’ve run

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. 

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.

Heartstring

Their hearts are connected by a single string

And every time she pulls the line

It slides through her hand

And pools at her feet.

She aches to draw closer,

But the words and images in thread

Are her only comfort.

She looks out in the distance

Sees the string going on

And on,

And on,

Curving at the end of the horizon,

Yet never slacking.

She can feel a voice echoing down the vein

With a hint of cologne in its wake

Can hear the vibration

Resonating in her chest.

She cries out as she watches

The threads of others grow thin

And snap—

Waiting for hers to follow suit.

She yearns for him all the day long

For a glimpse of the soul on the other side

And in the night hours he is there for a moment

And in the morning he fades into whispers

And impressions of pillows held too tightly.

She tugs the string

He tugs back

And both look forward

To a day when the string will slacken. 

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.