There is an abundance of knowledge
That I’ve grown to know about life,
Such as how some green teas,
Brew at a temperature of one hundred and fifty degrees,
Or the way that hues of paint,
Swirl upon a canvas to appear delicate and quaint.
And lastly how my friendships are like little lights,
Illuminating the darkest corners of my life, bright,
And though my brain holds knowledge of,
All that I have mentioned above,
That that I knew not outweighs that of which I do,
Such as the way I feel about you,
Or how the hours spent with you feel so few,
And how every moment spent brings something wonderful and new,
I never knew.
I never knew love,
That my heart could race so fast,
To the melody of the piano instrumentals we listened to last,
Or that I would love the way your fingers run through my hair,
Or how you hold my hand and kiss my fingers tenderly with care,
I did not know.
I did not know love,
That the aroma of Amazni tea
Would bring countless thoughts of you and me,
And that butterflies to my surprise,
Would flutter within every time I’m gazing in your eyes,
Perhaps it is the way you say the word Chicago,
Or you have an appreciation for flakes of snow,
Maybe it’s the way you draw invisible lines on my skin,
I hope you know that this feeling makes me feel beautiful within,
And though I know of this now,
I did not know,
I did not know love,
That I had been waiting twenty five days shy of seven thousand-three hundred and seventy four,
To meet the one who would make me feel something I’ve never felt before.
He who understands of my fears,
And is comforting when I’m at the point of tears,
Maybe it is his entrepreneur set mind,
Or the way our fingers are entwined,
Maybe it is the way we write our own poetry with our mouths,
Or the way we are both not from the South.
It could be any of these,
But I do know that,
I do know love that,
I’ve learned much during these thirty one days,
And as I waltz and frolic through this endless maze,
The only thought I have of which is meaningful,
(Is this)
“I did not know that love could be this beautiful.“
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
I wish I could show him that,
Between the cracks of my bones,
Flowers are sprouting,
Inside the garden of sadness I once had.
Seven months have passed since I last visited,
What was once a home of loneliness and anguish,
For the last, huddled was I, on a rusting bench,
Absentmindedly watching salty droplets cascade to the ground.
With cheeks red and face damp,
My attention finally turned to the weeds blossoming in my oasis,
And though its weeds were beautiful to gaze upon at the time,
I realized that a garden without roses is like an ocean without fish,
Or a galaxy without stars,
Or a sky without clouds,
Or a heart without love,
And for that reason I deserted the deserted,
To find you.
Regardless of my infrequent visits,
To the garden between the crevices of my bones,
Loyal friends have visited in my absence,
To pluck away the weeds I used to stare at so lovingly,
And shower the land with seeds,
The ocean with fish,
The galaxy with stars,
The sky with clouds,
And my heart with love.
Though the scene brings tears to my eyes,
To gaze upon all that has changed,
I wish I could show him that,
Between the cracks of my bones,
Flowers are sprouting,
Inside the garden of sadness I once had.
(H.G.)
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
Darling dearest,
I know troublesome times lie ahead,
But never neglect yourself.
Beloved, your beauty radiates the room,
Like the sun does the sky,
The stars do the night,
And your smile does your eye.
Never neglect yourself or fail to realize just how loved you are.
I know troublesome times are upon you set at an overwhelming tempo,
But soon the tempo will slow,
And you will know what I know.
My darling dearest.
Copyright March 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 11:56 PM UTC
Writing
and drinking tea
tonight;
I am.
This feels
Zen.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
Dear darlin' dancing on my dreams with steel-toed shoes,
I love the tapping sound that your two feet emote.
But I do not like you dancing upon my dreams.
With love from,
the man whose impression you have trampled.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
Yesterday,
I thumbed through all the tabbed pages,
Of the anthology you suggested that I read.
With a petite pink pen held by my right hand,
I wrote those poems down,
One by one.
Then I folded them,
One by one,
Into little paper hearts,
And put them in a mason jar.
They are just scraps of loose-leaf,
Marked by my dainty handwriting,
And folded into ornate shapes.
But they were my favorite poems from the anthology,
And I wanted to be reminded of you and what you’ve done for me,
If ever I become lonely or discouraged.
Or even when I am at life’s content,
I can open the jar containing my paper hearts;
And read them one by one,
And be reminded of you and what you’ve done for me.
Copyright March 16, 2013.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
Tea is my consolation,
From anxiety and fears that strike
Like venomous slithering snakes,
Who have missions to poison my resolve.
The most recent attack occurred,
During the late evening,
With their voices in my head shrieking and lashing,
Their troublesome words coiling around my air supply.
I dashed to the cupboard panicked,
To ensue Tea’s warm embrace,
And waited for the kettle to boil,
While tears trickled wordlessly down my face.
Tea greeted me warmly that night,
With a pleasant aroma of spices swirling up my nose,
And became the only thing I wanted;
A comforting liquid cascading down my throat.
I drank my blend of love in silence,
While my protector drew its steadfast sword,
And lashed those demons and the sorrows,
Into the dismal despair from whence they came.
Not long after the battle,
My silent friend with the warmth of a thousand suns crooned,
And watched as I fell soundlessly asleep,
Until the renewal of the afternoon.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 5:53 PM UTC
A smile stretches across your face,
White teeth gleaming,
Brighter than any star,
But not brighter than heaven,
For that would be pure evil.
Copyright Feb, 2011.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
Recollecting the recent years past.
After the unwritten fulfilled;
I still believe that I was a phoenix.
Even then.
Perhaps one not filled with imperishable flame,
For some beautiful creatures have greeted darkness,
Darkness that haunts the capable slain,
Into a horror far from bliss.
I know this figure was far from divine bliss,
For when eyes gazed upon the dusky feathers from years past,
The blackened twilight feathers were difficult to dismiss,
A clustered reminder of what these wings flew from, fast.
Though of late, those tufts of feathers have begun to transform.
Molting away this figure, marred with memories scarred,
Unveiling inner embers with lavish crimson and gold flame; a reform.
But why stop with wisps of the past merely charred?
For the time has now arrived to greet gracious death with a destructive goodbye,
An opportunity for this phoenix to endure a radiant rebirth,
Now, time is nigh;
For this phoenix to rise from the ashes of her own self worth.
Copyright March 3, 2013.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
Standing at the station,
Midnight on the clock,
Ticks Ticking, Heart racing,
Fingers dialing…
Voicemail.
Again and again I try to no avail.
Why do you not answer?
Why do you leave me in the dark to wonder?
If you thought of me that little.
A horn blaring in the distance,
Breaking me from my trance,
A noise getting closer and closer with every tick on the clock.
My fingers are trembling,
Heart pounding,
Though you wouldn’t know,
That my train is almost here.
The train pulls into the station,
Blowing puffs of cool white smoke,
A train unlike any other,
One not meant for the journey of another,
No, it is simply for me.
My hopes and dreams idle in the passenger seats,
Waiting for me.
The conductor is beckoning for me to board,
Yet,
I freeze in my tracks.
I am unsure what to do.
This is a journey not destined for two,
Time is ticking on that ticking clock,
Do I board or should I make one final call?
These fingers dial numbered buttons one last time,
Heart thudding inside my chest,
I know that this is the final time,
But do you?
I find myself wanting to hear the sound of your voice.
Voicemail.
I gather my things and board this magnificent train.
I will never know why you did not answer,
Why you left me in the dark to wonder.
But I will know this,
It was time that I boarded my own
Train.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 12:40 AM UTC