Do you know not of how badly I want to sing my song to you?
how much, how often I yearn
to reach out to you, “my something”,
and utter a florid cacophony of emotion past my thin lips
and into your ears?
Although I have already written you prose
this provides a paltry effort
to soothe the innate desire for me to sing.
“This I believe”; it feels of but a modicum,
inadequate to depict your lithe stature,
and unworthy of your alluring azure eyes.
Oh, if only it were as simple to sing as the others make it seem.
But how are they to know truly of my turmoil,
my struggle between the face of perfection
and the face of regret should I keep safe my song?
It could have been any face, I suppose,
but what is a face to me if not to be backed by good nature?
Because of this, singing is not aided, only ailed,
and not only behind the face does lie a brilliant disposition,
but is on the surface polished to mint at every angle.
And if in the case this face was not so,
I would not have a song to sing.
Thus I am fearful,
for it is I who knows not of how you will react if I sing my song.
Cowering in the corner, disheveled and wild;
I: the peasant,
and you: the king.
Two worlds that are never meant to cross,
two realities remaining untouched by the other.
And on that ill-fated day,
when finally the peasant exercises her lungs,
will the king banish her,
sending the peasant back to grovel?
or, perhaps,
will the king accept the peasant into his court?
and, on that slim chance,
would the peasant,
feeling welcome enough,
allow herself the privilege to trot on such holy ground?
Probably not,
for did the king ever want to hear her song at all?
Yet a time will come still,
with the crowning of a new sun on the horizon,
when the peasant must decide;
will she admit her song to the king?
Or will forever she remain safe in her silence,
safe in the unknown judgement of the king?
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
With darkness came a wisp;
barely a flick, a fleck of pristine snow
drifting towards earth to pile in
mounds, hills, mountains
ready for play as darkness came
The slippery hill ran fast beneath my plastic shield;
standing, swaying, falling down
caught in the arms of winter
and brought down softly as darkness came
Foreboding twilight
the bottom, the nadir of the day
when all creatures flee into their homes
and those unfortunate not to have one
perish
as darkness came
Hot chocolate frothing, boiling,
ready for cold lips to return and sip warm life
as the sweet splendid smell
slides into nostrils and eyes close in peace as darkness came
The fire crackling, breaking,
untamed and wild giving warmth
to all who gather around the amber flames
eating the heat as darkness came
A kiss, a switch,
the lights went out throughout the house;
Smothered in blankets,
silence and darkness but for a light
softly, mildly glowing
throughout the night to keep me safe
as darkness came.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
With great alacrity your soul ignites,
a barrage of electricity
The aberration so far away,
reaching out with shiny talons
of the darkest cobalt and,
grabs ahold of you, unrelenting
An arcane desire
cajoled through the longing
and hurt of oneself,
never demure
So eloquent,
fabricated from swift sightings
and lust for another
Fractious, gratuitous
An incisive monster,
innate to every being
yet only released when by chance,
an insatiable need arrives
and not leaving until utter morosity
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC