Paints of dark twilight hues,
Slathered across in blunt strokes.
Blend with deft hands,
Cajole gently with jabs and pokes.

Backdrop begging for a few others.
Longing to hold in infinite embrace.
Friends of earth and midnight sky.
Worthy of a doe-eyed lovers' gaze.

Cascading moonbeam...
Drenching all in silvery white.
Restless twinkling stars...
Singing their mismatched might.

Silhouetted landscape as horizon,
Darkened oils of plateaued ridges.
Finest brush could only manage,
To close the gap, I build bridges.

Nearing completion, this stint on canvas.
Nuances of dawn for what I've begun,
Usher the arrival of a brand new day.
All I need now is a few drops of sun.

Would that these sounds inside my head stop, for the briefest of moments,
for if it was so that I could just hear your voice one more time,
I would listen like a child in incumbent solitude,  
as if to a mothers soothing voice,  
reading never ending stories,
and if time would hold back these autumn tears,
I would breath again, feeling the cold, crisp air enter my lungs as a soothing balm,
healing my wounds and making me whole.

© H V Swan

be tender of words
and
tender of hearts,

be strong, be kind,
forgive us, them,
forgive them, us,
yourself as well,
for ours are walls
needy for overcoming,
and yours are too oft
too high

lives of tasks and taskmasters,
these oft self-appointed,
responsibilities - rocket-******
upon shoulders of mortal materials
uneven for and unintended
for the job
of carrying the world...

and yet,
we do
carry you, carry the world,
imperfect and scourged,

those self-righteous,
beheaders be wary,
I will not atone for you,
I will speak no tenders for you,
on this day of forgiveness,
there is none

i don't have much
but i'll give you my heart
though it's broken not whole
but darling i promise you
i'll love you with all my soul

i don't have much
but i'll give you my loyalty
and love you unconditionally
i know how it feels like to be cheated on
so darling trust me
i would never do you wrong

i don't have much
neither i'm beautiful nor i'm pretty
i even have scars on my body
and darling you don't have
to change for me
when i look at you
only perfection is all i see

i don't have much
but if you need someone to talk to
even at 3 am
i'll be there for you
to make you feel better
tell me your problems
and darling i promise i will listen

i don't have much
but i'll try my best to make you happy
feeling your world
with joy and laughter
no more troubles
no more worries
just you and me darling i promise

this one is
for the one's who stay up all night counting scars
instead of stars
for the one's who rely on the blades to keep breathing
for the one's who feel numb to the pain
for the one's who feel the need to end everything,
but can't find the courage to
for the one's who no longer know what it's like to smile
for the one's who are too afraid to get help
for the one's who are depressed, but constantly shut out
for the one's who are truly broken, but are labelled attention seekers
for the one's who no longer see a purpose in life
for the one's who view each day as a struggle
for the one's who built a caves inside their hearts
for the one's who feel tears choking their insides
for the one's who no longer are able to count the number of slashes on their wrists
for the one's who look in the mirror and see a monster reflecting back
for the one's who grew demons in their hearts instead of flowers
for the one's who refuse to be happy because it's going to be taken away
for the one's who lost someone who meant the world to them, and don't know what to do to get over it
for the one's who can't let go
for the one's who are stuck in the past
for the one's who are in love
for the one's who are happy
for the one's who are contented
for the one's who finally accept themselves



this,
is for


*everyone

My thoughts are weary travelers
Waiting for the safe haven
Of the blank pages
Where ink rejuvenates them to life
As memoirs for other travelers

I would have lied if I said we were a bed of roses. It seemed too much like we were only a bouquet of flowers. I did not tire of watching sun rays bask on our skins. But I have been losing count of sunsets and you have been losing hue. There was never a 'too late to part' and I dread for the sun to rise. You were never a rose with thorns. And there was no beauty in the world; as in a definition. Perhaps you were aware. Your touch on my skin is cold and fear is a monster; you either tame it, or be subdued. If we weren't merely numbers of the yesteryears, I do not understand why these meadows remind me of a barren field.