What have I done but love you?
I’m not an enemy to your soul.
Covetous hearts created this divide,
while coddling indifference.
They scattered us, you and I, like pieces,
their insouciance causing abstract of what this could be.
Tag: poem
Tibbs
By the rickety rim, farewell till the morrow.
Moonlit, as stones were kicked.
Our colloquies went on.
Foolish I,
you…
the antics,
ne’er be by flesh more longer,
but by souls,
still sit nightly.
We were the Warriors
Indolent Saturdays poking things with sticks.
We ran the back hills of our home.
Three soldier foray, we flanked…pretending.
Skinned knees and eye pokes, no bother,
as we’d rather dare and tell more lies.
Weathered
A haloed nimbus, like a surge, it comes on without forecast.
Emotions raw, cold, the flashes like lightning.
Still I have neither a hand to squeeze, nor an ear to my voice.
Nothings protected but my foolish promise to you.
Those furtive actions lie forever buried in the sands of time,
like your lifeless soul that erodes with the winds of change.
For a Spell
Quotidian stories they share,
sitting shoulder to shoulder.
Those confabulating chaps
with their doddery routine,
fidget on a bench of stone.
Each muster for a spell,
hoary old fellows chinwag
anecdotes to their nature,
as I eves-dropped for a tale.
The Rain Made Me Do It
I surveil the abstract of raindrops as they slither the outside pane
its journey, merely a moment in time
each tiny drop…
they dazzle like fireworks synchronizing with my deluge of thoughts now cached from a once juvenile me
I beam with the sound of the pitter-patter
the torrent tone lulls me to a reminiscent state as I recall the stories of my olden
For Granted
Blare my name,
call me to the table,
wake me up early…
just
one
more
time…
The Inside Chair
The inside chair was always where,
I felt the most at home.
I’d rush to dinner, always the winner,
to sit on my dining room throne.
Argue your matter, try with the flatter,
this spot was mine alone.
If you sat in my place, or stole my space,
Grandmother would make it known.
I sit no more, like i did before,
time has only shown.
That the inside chair is always where,
i’ll miss about my home.
Not Even a Whisper
It’s still no matter that desire exists, I keep lying to myself.
Surely something must distract your sound sleep as it does for me.
That unlocked door has remained ajar for so long now,
a little light still glimmers against the ingress of doubt.
I remain indignant, stuck in this emotional vacuum devoid of what matters, screaming, bawling, through the hubbub, alone in quietude with not even a whisper to keep me content.
Father’s Storm
I wish this day away just like the many before it.
No matter how high the sun, that cloud will forever rain on me.
As I try to move on, the shadows creep alongside teasing a dark void.
My unhealed scars, they fester each time I’m reminded,
adding one more to an already weathered heart.
Earth To Ash 