it is the good morning that is never said
and the dying dreams
suspended by immovable,
unbreakable threads
that hang stagnant in the air.
I see these in your eyes,
these wisps of smoke
from a life you wish youʼd had.
Do you love me? I see that you donʼt
love each other,
and I hear it in the
tarnished silvery sighs every morning
when you see
last nightʼs dinner
still sitting on the counter, half-eaten
each expecting the other to clean it up.
I know youʼd be happier apart, if it werenʼt for me
and money
and the house
and the cars
and the list of things you used to love.
it is the good night I know youʼre waiting to hear.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
The rocking chair,
I sat there with you
And you sat there with me holding my fragile-dreaming hand
As the wind blew the warmest summer scent
through the blind-starred sky
I saw you
in those stars,
in the brightest ones
that spelled out my future
in white ink
scrawled over the black night.
The rocking chair,
Where I watched the sunrise sprinkle red-light
on my auburn hair
As you gave me
My own star
on a gold band
The unsettling murmurs
declaring us too young,
too naive, too fast
were drowned out by the steady sway of our rocking chair pendulously swinging toward the sky.
It was a different time then,
The rotted chair has been taken down
And my fiery hair has faded to gray with age;
sadness;
time
and your cool, blue heart
refrains from sound
But yet
I know
that somehow
you still sit
in our rocking chair watching me
watch the timeless sky scrawl our past
in black ink
over the white stars.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC