Poems, thoughts, and ramblings.
I gave not from my heart, for she had nothing left of note.
I gave only from my body, and in my sensible head I hoped.
I built you up from grains of sand, gave light that you were better man.
in dreaming, and in passing,
in mourning, and in loss,
I gave you up for something more,
yet now our paths no longer cross.
If mystics could have told me,
Whispered doom into my ears,
I cannot promise on our love
that we would still be here.
much like the stars we’ve dreamt of
and so fiercely loved beneath,
I fear that you will not see my light
until I am
long
past
gone.
that by the time you find yourself
searching for me,
there will be naught left to find
but dust and useless dreaming.
in almost perfect stillness,
your sleeping breast rises and falls,
so slightly, so secretly.
those breaths you share
only with the sheets and me.
I wonder, as you sleep so sound,
and I lie restless in our bed,
what dreams are yours?
is it me that you see,
the lights in my eyes,
the sound of my breath?
or is it the bright of the city,
the call of something bigger?
I fear I am too small,
too insubstantial to know.
and so I wonder,
and so you sleep…
you love me because I am “strong”,
but what if I am not?
what if I am weak and fragile,
in need of tender hands,
and precisely comforting words?
what if I am already falling apart,
struggling to remain upright,
desperate for an ounce of stability?
what if I am destined to fail,
regardless of eager “trying” and
countless tears of exhaustion?
will you love me, still,
even as I crumble in your hands
like yesterdays past,
or will you desert me?
will you leave me in dismay,
a broken pillar of strength,
a forgotten bastion of hope long past?
I have stood alone all this time,
and I want to believe you are better than most,
but this darkness has it’s hold and I am
no better, no stronger or sturdier
than the roses of winter.
I have fallen, faithless, at the feet of a stranger,
sought solitude in open arms and found the sound of home
in beating veins, and thrumming heart.
we dance, and the sound is thunder,
we sing, and the world becomes a stranger.
what fate is love, but bittersweet?
what horror, what ecstasy, what dream?
if I could, I would fill every minute with you.
even as my hair sits graying, in my youth, and my skin becomes new and old at once,
I would sit and fill my breaths with your mouth and my hands with your skin.
as time, that bitter mistress, flew her hurried head around our ticking clocks and days,
I’d never regret those moments, for they, as you, are precious.
let the planets spin as they may around our burning sun,
and let man measure their passing, let them quantify the infinite as they must,
but let me keep you, in this moment and every moment, with me.
let me not chase you down these empty roads,
always two footsteps behind your voice that says, “I tried.”
I am thankful for the broken hearts which came before mine.
for bleeding romantics who wrote sonnets, reminiscent of lost love and dire yearning;
for young lovers departed and never returning, for dreams which died upon waking and poison roses in the courtyard.
I am thankful for the ones who lost, before I ever knew what there was to be found.
for the silhouette of a drowning lady, asphyxiating in a room of only air and empty shells;
for the sounds of footsteps carrying across the last road we’ll walk together.
iamwhatshewrote 