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Chris Feb 2018
Maple leaf dreams
scattered about the lawn
Pathways hidden
beneath blankets of decaying sorrow

I wander, eyes closed
for to see means to cry
Shadows laugh in deep tones
as my thoughts always fade into you

Northern borders point fingers
and emptiness is their focus
Where I sit, I sit alone, wondering
does the thought of us exist

Broken branches are now my bed,
though sleep is useless
For all I see is you and me
before waking to the reality

That life is for others,
that dreams are merely fiction
and love is just a four letter word
no one cares to shout at me
Chris Feb 2018
She's everywhere I look
And everything I see
She finds me when I sleep
She's in my every dream

Her voice is every song
Her smile a perfect day
Her beauty ever strong
I could not look away

Her touch was like a rose
Her lips my favorite wine
Her eyes I just adore
I loved to call her mine

She lives within my heart
She's in the skies above
Why did we ever part
How could I lose her love
Chris Nov 2016
It is always so hard to say good bye
when you have no idea
when the next hello will come
Chris Nov 2016
Give me some duct tape
or a stapler
A couple 1 5/8" coarse thread sheet rock screws
or a heavy duty nail gun
Maybe a pair of vice grips
or a wood clamp

or better yet,
just give me a brain

Because it seems
I just can't learn to
keep my big fat mouth shut
Chris Nov 2016

You, with words of beauty,
speak in softer tones
where volume is not required
because vibrations
bring to light the meaning

Even if remaining quiet
calms the fears
drifting along your heart

Feelings still shout
in actions shown,
leaving only words unsaid
to speak the true meaning
of the silence
Chris Oct 2016
I suggested leaning but they chose to jump. Never once looking to see what waited for them at the bottom. Still I called in a voice of heroic fashion, though slightly chapped from the lack of judgment shown. I stood listening for an echo or anything resembling a voice from the depths, but heard only waves, crashing against the rocks lining this coast of last chances. Gulls swooped and sang midnight songs while the moon snickered in its own lunar way. I found the darkness to be threatening as I peered over the edge, seeking but a plaid shirt, a pair of jeans or a chrome button dangling from an exposed root to no avail.  It had happened and poetry was the thief. Stolen in our prime, wading in shallow waters, watching ripples of time count minutes as our thoughts began to swim. It was no use, it beckoned and only one remained to answer the never ending call. So I dove head first into the phrases and verses that would spell my doom, sentenced for life, writing graphic details of those things my heart had held and my eyes had witnessed, knowing this was it, the end of my life as I knew it, lost forever in the abyss, the drowning point of creativity, poetic imprisonment and me without a swimsuit.
Chris Oct 2016
I tasted the piece that
smoothed the way,
submerged, as a single leaf
floated unknowing

Salted sweetness
on folded fables,
turned pages rapidly
between parted indexes

As eyes pierced,
interlaced of cotton fibers
Laying fears aside,
wrapped in yesterdays worries

While lounging on the side of caution
in plastic sheaves
protecting the existence
of unwanted realizations

Still the moments that fell
atop motions fed my soul,
inserted into the warmth
of streams flowing deeper

And up to my knees wading
brought sighs of satisfaction
when dreams came and went,
but still remain everlasting
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