her spirit was so powerful,
I believed she controlled the weather.
her smile caused her eyes to crinkle and the smallest sliver of light shone through to brighten the sky.
her mouth created the most beautiful sounds while laughing and singing. It felt like the calm before a storm because for a short moment,
everything seemed perfect.
her tears in her dark hours caused monsoons and tsunamis. So much pent up emotion in one fragile person created the idea of a dam breaking when her world does too.
her rage that forms with the realization that no one can change the inevitable life brings, causes her to shake with fury. The dark sky breaks open with a momentary light. She makes lightning with her quick, angry ideas that are bursting out of her collapsing body.
her shaking hands are the slowing down of rough seas. The drying of puddles after a spring shower. She's sorry for the mess she has made but doesn't realize it's only natural.
it's in her nature, so that's why it happened in a cycle.
I stood in the eye of her hurricane and watched her fall in a downward spiral.
On the threshold
of life and death
by a thread of love,
the veil of time,
a peaceful sleep
so divine, it is
no wonder why we
say Rest In Peace.
To you, who I loved in life,
Do you feel
all our love
Does our pain
make it harder
for you to
of the fabric
in ours below?
Though we long to
hold on to you,
strings of life,
your reel is
less the thread
To my precious loves,
who I must now depart,
form and time.
peace to your now
and free my soul
"I love you through all space and time."
The last line is a quote from Prince's song 7.
Thanks for reading! K:)
I saw her line fall flat
It was a sign that she's not turning back
A while ago i checked on her
It made me cry a river
I asked a question
But her silent told me everything in her position
A sound I'll never hear again
A beat that skipped a thousand repeat
I long to see
Her being with me
But all acts are nothing now
She has bowed her last show
I waited for her to come back
But it was a time to accept the fact
That she is no longer breathing
And she is in the great unknown just smiling
I wanted to say goodbye
Not knowing she already did
Like the last song i never heard
From the stereo i always listened to
She was and still the best
She deserves a rest
Rest in peace
When my time comes to an end
I shall see you again...
Can it be that you are gone now,
Five years' comings and goings,
Five solar journeys now, around the sun?
I can still see your shape,
Thin and worn,
Overalls, too big,
Cap pulled down,
Pliers hanging at your side,
Lace-up boots, worn,
And your face, lined,
Eyes still twinkling, though
Weary after a day's work,
In my mind, you're
Going off to the barn,
To hay the cows,
Like an old imam
To daily prayers,
Moved by routines
Impossible to ignore.
The man and the work,
So embedded in the other...
No more thought of leaving -
Though as a younger man,
You spoke of some day retiring -
There was no way, and no desire,
Farming was your one remaining fire.
So, five years are gone,
And yet, everything still
Standing on the farm
Bears resemblances of you.
The peeling buildings, sagging still,
The gravel paths you tended,
The panels your hands welded,
The barns and sheds you built
Still stand, and bear the evidence
Of Arthur Bouchard's hands.
I'm eating the last cannoli. Pop's funeral was over a week ago, and since it was the storm of the century that day, the caterer had way too many leftovers. This is the last remains of that infamous day's dessert. It's well past soggy, and smells now of the sliced onions left from the hoagie platters. Those, I'll just toss. No sense risking another death in the family. It's not so delectable, I know, but I'm eating the last cannoli, because that's what pops would do. He didn't waste a thing, symptom of being raised through the depression, I suppose. The depression, yeah, can't let that get to me, he wouldn't want it that way. I'm eating the last cannoli, choking back tears, and pinching my nose to get past the smell of this prose, and an onion smelling soggy cannoli, 'cause that's what pop would want.
Last remains, yeah, those are here too. Dad's ashes, that is. All tidy in a beautiful blue marble box, mom chose for both their internment. She mostly sits staring at the flowers sent, that are about ready to expire themselves. The strong scent of lilies in the air, helps with that odd oniony aroma. I'm eating the last cannoli, because mom is insistent I should. I wouldn't argue with her over it. Neither would pop. So, I'm eating the last cannoli.
Calling up guttural
half moon mornings deepen
An inarticulate song
That in between place
Hard plastic ashtray
with burnt smudgings
that cannot be completely cleaned
Though it has less permanence
knowing these types of moons
will come back around
and make themselves known again
Yet still, misunderstood
There is a measurement
of light and dark
and a visibility of
and over there
Opening vocal chords
to give it a sound
leaves just a gritty inner tone
The sun sinks lower in the west where it has set the sea afire
Standing on the beach we, with baited breath to see the glorious green flash
The phantom phenomenon lives for one magical moment
Why is it that we, all of us, want to see that which will inspire?
Dipping feather quill shed from a seagull in ink I make my slash
Furiously writing and dipping until my pensive mood is spent
Sitting in darkness, pensivity gives way to discontent
Ghostly presence or absence of you. I'm haunted by your urn of ash
I wouldn't need a summer day one last dance is all I dare require
9:30 pm when my mom called me at work
Telling me to leave for a couple of weeks
My father had less than 5 days here on earth
Dying from pancreatic cancer...
I felt that the walls around me came closing in
I heard my spirit and soul got crushed into pieces
I felt the universe stopped for a couple of minutes
Yet I moved because my shift's till 10 o'clock...
I texted my buddies if they were free that night
I needed someone to lean on or cry on
I wanted someone to comfort me in any ways
None replied except "him"...
The one I secretly called my "Mr. Left" for years
Whom I confessed my love two years prior
Who didn't want my romantic feelings for him to grow
Who I stayed friends with despite his rejection...
"I'm at a nearby park just strolling," he texted me
My heart beat wildly with certain decisions to make
Should I go and accompany him around the city?
Should I accept the comfort he's going to offer me?
I closed the store and blinked back the tears
That starlit night I walked around the blocks in daze
Until I arrived at the park which he told me minutes ago
And then I stepped back and went inside a karaoke bar...
I sang in the darkness for two hours - completely alone
Pouring my grief, fears and heartbreak into nothingness
He never texted me again and I knew then that it ended
A Premonition of a dying friendship with him...
A person gets easily fall when he/she is vulnerable
My mother's words rang between the melodies
He was available that night yet I chose myself
To be with me, to be in touch with my own grief...
Soothing myself, "He would never understand anyway..."
Rationalizing, "I'd fall for him again if I did go..."
Better be alone and cry for many things in the night
Than to mistake his comfort as romantic love...