I often wonder why I find inspiration in nights of enigmatic torment,
choleric clouds and relentless rain promising bucolic scenes during our
morning walk after the sun rises. Strange, how some time between the driving,
pelting storm, and that subtle morning ritual with you and our dog
could hypnotize me with such dramatic force.
*
Sometime in between my anger and sadness
you crept around the corner, clutching your pillow
and the stuffed animal I bought you for your birthday -
the stuffed animal you used to own as a child.
You resemble a child now, and my anger dissolves,
and the world disappears, as your puffy eyes and
haltering voice tell me, "I had a bad dream,"
And all I can do is hold you. And I do,
and you will never know to the extent you saved
me from the darkness I created for myself,
Or the providence I find in you, when every touch
and glance is a small miracle to me.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Late Nights.
I sat up late gazing into the shadows of horror stories,
dark novels, and films noir. Chasing the shadows of my former
selves, to learn their secrets, feeling that such black magic
required the incantations of artists' minds darker than my own.
All too soon I realize how much I only want to run from
those spectres of my past, and hide them in the darkness of these pages.
But then the magic is gone, or at least eludes me until I allow
myself to find all the pieces that need picking up, face my selves,
and find some way to stop the pain from bleeding out again.
*
Sometimes I envision you as you said you once were,
Roaming the halls of your childhood home with a candle
placed Romantically in a holder you grasp like a teacup.
Grown now, these images still play in my mind,
until it's the both of us in the halls of our own home,
Reading Keats and Shelley to one another by candlelight
over cups of Earl Grey tea.
*
Sometimes I sit beside you and see more than a
reflection of me in your eyes. Sometimes I see
my self, or part of me, held captive safely in your
heart, swimming in the mystical blue sea of your
irises - the sea that holds my future.
*
Sometimes I forget that age exists between us.
Sometimes I remember how young you are.
Sometimes I forget how young I am.
*
And Sometimes I wish loving you were less painful.
dark novels, and films noir. Chasing the shadows of my former
selves, to learn their secrets, feeling that such black magic
required the incantations of artists' minds darker than my own.
All too soon I realize how much I only want to run from
those spectres of my past, and hide them in the darkness of these pages.
But then the magic is gone, or at least eludes me until I allow
myself to find all the pieces that need picking up, face my selves,
and find some way to stop the pain from bleeding out again.
*
Sometimes I envision you as you said you once were,
Roaming the halls of your childhood home with a candle
placed Romantically in a holder you grasp like a teacup.
Grown now, these images still play in my mind,
until it's the both of us in the halls of our own home,
Reading Keats and Shelley to one another by candlelight
over cups of Earl Grey tea.
*
Sometimes I sit beside you and see more than a
reflection of me in your eyes. Sometimes I see
my self, or part of me, held captive safely in your
heart, swimming in the mystical blue sea of your
irises - the sea that holds my future.
*
Sometimes I forget that age exists between us.
Sometimes I remember how young you are.
Sometimes I forget how young I am.
*
And Sometimes I wish loving you were less painful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
