I live my life through the words I write
From the smouldering coals and ashes
deep down within me,
you found the one ember still alight
and reignited the flame.
The flickering lights in my eyes,
heat building on my skin,
sparks jumping through my heart,
you brought it all back.
Perhaps we can leave it at that,
perhaps that’s enough.
Perhaps that’s what you were meant to do
for me,
and nothing more.
Maybe I don’t need to be here or there,
one place or another,
black or white.
There must be shades of grey in between
across the spectrum,
where we can still be together
but get as close to the black and white
as we can
without losing the grey completely.
Maybe I can have pieces of it all
without inflicting self-destruction,
without being all-or-nothing.
Maybe all I need to do is ask.
Please, I ask for your patience
as I chip away slowly at the wall
dividing you from me.
I understand the divide it enforces
because I feel it too,
although most times, I enjoy it.
That’s the problem,
for you despite it.
Keep trying I will,
to knock it down and prevent rebuilding
when I look the other way.
Pull me back from the routine of hustle,
racing against time to optimize productivity,
working fast and diligent
because I am the only one.
Pull me back from the hustle,
make me slow down enough
to have a conversation of leisure
with you.
Remind me of other worthy goals
besides the numbers and dates.
Pull me back to myself
like only you can.
The sun has come up today
just as the song promised yesterday
it would.
Watch, stare,
as trees, grass and houses
come into view
illuminated
by the sky turning soft blues and pinks
softly, gently.
The sun will come out tomorrow, too.
More beauty awaits us then.
It was when I set my mind
to listen to the words,
not just the music,
I heard what I had been missing
that it was already there
all this time.
Dreaming of the impossible
the never-happened, never-will-happen.
Dreaming of a past which does not belong to me
and may not belong to anyone.
The sights, sounds, conversations, feelings,
they are too real
to be imaginary.
They must be real.
I want them to be real.
Leaves remaining from last year,
maybe longer,
collect and accumulate in a pile
littering the ground with browns and dull greys.
How many layers are there?
All I see are the new ones on top,
hiding the older ones underneath
likely in varying stages of decomposition.
There they lie.
Rustling ever so slightly in the breeze
are the light, new ones,
settling motionless, heavy with age and water
are the the old ones,
the foundation.
Up through the middle though
lives a tree
growing new bright and green leaves
and blossoms of dark fuschia and cotton white.
So odd it seems
how life can flourish from the base
of death, of decay,
but my eyes do not deceive me.
Perhaps, the leaves offer comfort.
Perhaps, the leaves provide warmth.
Perhaps, the leaves supply nourishment.
But perhaps, the leaves are a hindrance,
keeping the tree in the past,
preventing growth.
Despite the offered comfort,
go the leaves must.
I gathered mine,
will keep gathering as new ones fall,
growing through and beyond
the past.
I cannot deny
the weight pressing on my chest.
It lingers
and the more it lingers
the heavier the weight becomes
until it crushes me.
Caught in a trance,
hands on the steering wheel
eyes on the road
mind lost in the music.
Lost in the bass
thundering through my static muscles,
lost in the guitar
amplifying my pulsating blood,
lost in the lyrics
shattering and healing my heart at once.
Turn it up loud
so my ears cannot hear my mind
attempting fantasy.
Singing, mimicking,
would be a disservice now.
So here I sit, caught in a trance
seemingly motionless, but hosting a frenzy
on the inside.
Music surges through me
as I open wide the gate
and leaves me with nothing more
than a growing smile on my lips
and radiating calm.
Dawning Words 