B H: Poems

799 · Jun 2012

Come

B H Jun 2012

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.

668 · Mar 2012

I Remember.

B H Mar 2012

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.

563 · Mar 2012

This Road.

B H Mar 2012

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.

518 · Nov 2012

Today,

B H Nov 2012

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.

210 · Jul 2016

Untitled

B H Jul 2016

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.

— The End —