I heard someone say
Science is a noose,
Society a stool,
And philosophy
The dubious
Kick.

Well I'd say:

Society sets the rope,
Stool,
And gives the kick.

Science saves my life
Before I hit
The end of my rope.

And philosophy helps
Me cope
With the reality
That everything
I'm told to believe
By society
Was meant
to set me free,
while secretly
They said,
"Ah, Schucks!
Let's hang'em instead!"

Wake to the warm.

Wake to memories
of desire.

Sleepy otters stretch.

Birds awake singing questions.

She sighs and sips,
the day before her.

He wonders at her wonder;
so the otters, so the birds.

What are those
memories of desire?

And who is this
bright promise
that sighs and sips,

waking to the warm.

One day, he will know.
  ~mce

A nerd who loves
numbers and letters.
A nerd who wears geeky
glasses and attends all
her classes. A nerd who
bathes in literature every
night and can speak to him
in the language of poetry.
He fell in love with a nerd
like me* ~

I captured a part of him in poetry, put it down to hold against time. Praying with a small part of me, that through art he would always be mine.

Words that pour through ink inspired, he must be a muse. The outcome is always fates desire, because they never let me choose.

For fear of memories of him fading, I scribbled them down with pen. Not knowing where this journey is headed, only where it did begin.

I can place a finger to hold a page, and remember him through verse. Every emotion scribbled down, will he be a saviour or a curse?

My lips could never form the words, to capture what it is I feel. He must be meant for Poetry, so my heart would know it's real.

He always comes back,
reeking of regret and apology,
Hands unsteady and shaking.

Soft knocks on my door,
one..two..three,
I always pause for four,
bracing myself as I answer.

He looks the same,
carmel skin and strong jawed,
Silence forgotten in embrace,
yet intimacy is stale.

Flooding with tainted memories,
He pours out tears I can't catch,
broken promises I can't mend,
wishes I can't grant.

This is the last time..
please he breathes into my hair,
pleading for refuge.
I know he is seeking sanctuary,
but he's already left me in ruin.

He always comes back,
for that desecrated relic of a heart,
that he won't leave behind.

.

I want to write
    beautiful poetry
upon your blushing skin
       using my finger,
  gently tracing
    each verse

Allowing
     the unspoken love
I have in my heart
   to surrender you  
with each word
   *written