Tag: spilled thoughts

You cannot stifle me,

Though the cotton in my throat insists

In crowding out words.

You cannot blind me,

Though cataracts creep–

Milky tendrils like feet.

You cannot mute my world

As static weaves and pops,

Like kernels on a summer day.

You cannot numb my flesh,

Though it crawls to your touch

And rests when you are warm.

You cannot stifle my tongue,

For the richness of clouds rest

Melting like a creamy kiss.

I will not be overcome by you;

No, I will not be rewritten.

My words, my heart, my bones…

I am my own.

Meditation (Desert)

You close your eyes and breathe.

You focus on nothing else,

Just the friction in your nose

And the sound of your breath.

You feel yourself drifting,

Shades of light shifting

As your skin begins to warm.

Light travels along your fingertips;

You feel it working its way up,

Gliding on your arms

Resting on your shoulders,

Like hands lightly pressed

To steady in a storm.

It rises to your neck

And drops to your chest

Like every weight

You’ve carried for too long.

From your chest it slides

Wrapping around your stomach

Settling in your lap

Like a hug you’ve never had.

It nuzzles your thighs

Tickling a bit

Then traces your hips,

Calves, feet, and toes.

It breathes on your nose,

Traces your cheeks,

Kissing freckles you never knew

Till all you feel is radiance.

You open your eyes,

Slowly,

Delicately, but deliberately

Taking in the miles and miles of dunes.

Nothing and no one around you.

Nothing and no one to need you.

Nothing and no one to call you.

There is only sand,

And light,

And warmth,

And peace.

The sun is gentle to your skin,

Never more or less

Than just right.

You breathe.

You let go.

You breathe.

The light grows.

You breathe.

And all is well in this moment.

You clung to my shirt like you never left,

Hands clasped so tight–

No space to breathe,

Except in remembrance of you.

Silence couldn’t fit between us,

Even if it tried,

And oh it pries

Whenever you’re away.

Everything seems so intertwined

Legs touching needing to be enough

But never is,

For hearts too close-knit

To have a different name.

What is waiting?

What is fair?

When everything seems on the other side

Of doubt,

Of fear,

Of years…

And yet I must abide

The tides that carry you home.

In my canoe I traverse forests,

Passing broken branches,

Leaves floating

Like detached limbs

Of a forgotten whole,

Whispers of a soul

In mosses green, and gray.

I trace within the mist

A shadow of a kiss

And reflect upon waters

Too crowded for my thoughts.

With an oar in hand,

I sweep the sleep from the surface

And shake cold memories awake.

While regrets tremble in my throat,

Then sink

Like neglected boots

On a Summer’s eve.

I breathe.

I keep rowing.

People are not pastimes,

Hobbies to pursue in the evening

When the sun has set

And your busy day has closed.

People are not playthings,

To poke and prod for enjoyment,

To dazzle your bored mind

Or perform for your pleasure.

People are not conveniences,

To be picked up at moment’s notice,

Dropped when things get difficult,

And neatly tucked away till later.

People are people…

Full of light and soul,

Of majesty and grace,

Of potential without measure.

Treat them this way

And watch them grow.

You say “kiss me”

With more fervor that I can ignore.

Our hands are shaking,

Pawing for handholds in wrinkled fabric.

Curled fingers grasping at strands of hair

Like lifelines from a sinking ship.

Our lungs gasping for air

As teeth part to breathe each other in.

Lips misplaced in speaking

Love between syllables,

With tongues too tied up

To muster understanding.

I lean back to take you in

Eyes shining at all you are,

All we are,

All we have been.

I smile at your floofy hair,

Your reddened cheeks,

Those eyes staring back at mine,

Like nothing else could matter.

I cup your face in my hand

Running my thumb against your cheek.

You turn and smile into my hand

And kiss my palm.

I close my eyes;

This is home,

Not some arbitrary place to leave my coat,

But a place to rest…

More than my body,

But my soul–

Our soul…

One.

Silence in Speaking

There is no silence like speaking…

Half-truths make a better fence,

Than stone walls could ever be.

Cover up the wounds with smiles

And laugh memories into a corner.

If you have to paint your lips

And pin them in place to fit in,

At least you have a chance. 

There is no silence like speaking…

Keep it up and you might believe

These pillars more than prison bars

Around your teeth

To sift your speech

And train a once idle tongue.

There is no silence like speaking,

Except each breath is like breathing lead

And your lungs and heart grow heavy still..

Inhale.

Exhale.

Stop.

.

.

.

Begin again.

Empty words are broken bridges

Charred from unkept promises

And truths too inconvenient to maintain

Ropes of stifled smiles held down by gravity

And lips accustom to falling

Too fast to hold on for too long

Every plank is repetition

Hastily scribbled replies on cheap parchment

Spaced out haphazardly

Tied absentmindedly

By hands too busy to meddle

In hearts unfit for second-guessing

Even the sure-footed are ensnared

By aged wood rotted through with deceit

Plunging into waters too rapid

Too deep

I balance words on my tongue

Rolling letters against teeth

Scraping sentences built up

And waters stale with grief.

As eyes marked with luggage

Heavier than sleep

Are carried away

Blinking dust and counting sheep.

For what is peace

When sounds are cheap

And fingers lie awake

Intertwined and steep;

They rest on cheeks

And breathe.

For what is peace

When all we see

Are enslaved hearts

Told they’re free?

What can we say

When home

Is why they’re refugees?