b-h - Hello Poetry

How many times have you called my name? I stopped counting after the first. I was taught never to count my blessings, or to expect more. But simply to appreciate their rarity. But you spoiled me. I grew accustomed to them. And now I cannot bear the silence.

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Jul 6, 2016

Jul 6, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC

Untitled

How many times have you called my name? I stopped counting after the first. I was taught never to count my blessings, or to expect more. But simply to appreciate their rarity. But you spoiled me. I grew accustomed to them. And now I cannot bear the silence.

8

My father wrote music to relieve his sorrow. I never truly believed in such a method. Sorrow is bone deep. Simple actions cannot relieve it. You have to let your bones grow old first. Only then will they have been relieved of their burden. But by then it will not matter, for your bones will have warped to accommodate such a weight.

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Nov 23, 2012

Nov 23, 2012 at 11:39 PM UTC

Today,

My father wrote music to relieve his sorrow. I never truly believed in such a method. Sorrow is bone deep. Simple actions cannot relieve it. You have to let your bones grow old first. Only then will they have been relieved of their burden. But by then it will not matter, for your bones will have warped to accommodate such a weight.

10

Meet me, Deep in the arboretum, Between those majestic orants, Praising the sun and air. Wait under that crumbling arch, The one whose body shivers At the first touch of wind. Sing softly that succulent tune, (The one that blurs my eyes with thoughts of home) So the wind can whisper your arrival. Do not take long, Or you may miss me. Time, that ancient thief of youth and vigor, May clasp his knarled hands around us both. And we many never become free from him again.

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Jun 3, 2012

Jun 3, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC

Come

Meet me, Deep in the arboretum, Between those majestic orants, Praising the sun and air. Wait under that crumbling arch, The one whose body shivers At the first touch of wind. Sing softly that succulent tune, (The one that blurs my eyes with thoughts of home) So the wind can whisper your arrival. Do not take long, Or you may miss me. Time, that ancient thief of youth and vigor, May clasp his knarled hands around us both. And we many never become free from him again.

16

I've been down this road before. I've felt the lurch of its twists, its stomach sinking turns. I've seen the green expanse pass by in a blur of fickle memories. And when we slowed, I watched time do the same, droplets of dew caressed our cracked window panes. I've been down this road before. watched the sun leave us for another. But it always returned, glinting, winking all the same. But we forgave as mothers do, who just can't seem to let go, even as they see their child from afar. I've been down this road before. I know its dead ends. So we will take another route.

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Mar 23, 2012

Mar 23, 2012 at 3:27 AM UTC

This Road.

I've been down this road before. I've felt the lurch of its twists, its stomach sinking turns. I've seen the green expanse pass by in a blur of fickle memories. And when we slowed, I watched time do the same, droplets of dew caressed our cracked window panes. I've been down this road before. watched the sun leave us for another. But it always returned, glinting, winking all the same. But we forgave as mothers do, who just can't seem to let go, even as they see their child from afar. I've been down this road before. I know its dead ends. So we will take another route.

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the lilt of your tongue when you spoke my name. the smile that slipped onto your lips, like a knife into a sheath, when your eyes met mine. your lips, the softest shade of sunset, on a mountain range I never grew tired of tracing. how your eyes, those soothing azure eyes, looked into the unknown with a youthful curiosity I envied. I slipped gently away from the brink of that secret as you made it your own. I remember the day that you left. But I do not, for the life of me, know why I did not follow.

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Mar 21, 2012

Mar 21, 2012 at 12:16 AM UTC

I Remember.

the lilt of your tongue when you spoke my name. the smile that slipped onto your lips, like a knife into a sheath, when your eyes met mine. your lips, the softest shade of sunset, on a mountain range I never grew tired of tracing. how your eyes, those soothing azure eyes, looked into the unknown with a youthful curiosity I envied. I slipped gently away from the brink of that secret as you made it your own. I remember the day that you left. But I do not, for the life of me, know why I did not follow.

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