Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ian Jun 2012
Your heart races as you watch
Your dreams are so close to reality
You can practically taste them in the air
You reach your hand out to cup your dream
And yet as your fingers curl around what you desire
It becomes liquid
And melts away in the palm of your hand
Leaving nothing
Except for a film of bittersweet memories
I remember those times
Ian Jul 2013
You know, if I had a penny for every poem I have read with the theme of
"You don't know what you have until it's gone"
I would be a rich man
It's a shame that it took me seventeen years and a handful of special people
To realize that sometimes clichés are correct

I am not sure if you are aware
But each time you inhale
It is called an inspiration
And each time you exhale
It is called an expiration
So here I sit
Echoing a process that has been perfected throughout the millennia
Except I guess perfected would be a strong word
Because we don't have it right just yet

You were someone who inspired me
To become someone who I could be proud of
Someone whose own stories set my blood on fire
And filled me with hope that I could take the raw elements
Of myself and forge them into something great
Because that is exactly what you did

Just a milkman's son
Who ended up becoming the smartest man I know
Who taught thousands of students
Both privileged and poor
And couldn't tell the difference between the two
Who inspired two generations of people
To learn
To love
To laugh
Whose little gestures meant the world
To everyone who had the fortune to inhabit yours

Your five sons went on to become
Doctors and lawyers
Businessmen and police officers
Even if one wanted to be a clown
You married a beautiful woman
Who walked with love in her heart
And kindness kneaded into her hands
Your grandchildren, while there are a lot of us
Each owe you for the knowledge and kindness you instilled in us
All this from a milkman's son

This poem isn't goodbye
Because each time I draw inspiration from the atmosphere around me
I am thinking of you and I hold that **** breath for as long as I can
Just waiting for inspiration to hit me
I squeeze my eyes closed and hope against hope that everything is going to be okay
Because I am too  scared to let that inspiration go, I am not ready to expire

So grandpa,
For me
Take that breath.
Rest in Peace.
Ian Feb 2012
Hands and fates intertwine as lovers kiss.
Fireworks crackle through the air, and love permeates the atmosphere.
But a mere kiss on the lips of another pales in comparison to the intensity and the familiarity of the love of the sea and the land.
No matter how many times the waves of the ocean must recede into the depths, they will always return to steal just one more kiss from the sand's ever awaiting lips.
The wave reaches out with it's foamy breakers to show the land that it is never out of reach.
And when it must once more retreat, it leaves a darkened mark upon the sand, just to keep the sweet memories alive.
This is one dance, that will always continue, until the very end of days.
Ian Jan 2012
Every once in a while, there is one of those nights where you don't sleep.
Where every little decision you have ever made comes under intense scrutiny.
Where every "What If" haunts you.
And every mistake you ever made is clear and present in your mind.
And you just want to curl up and sleep
But you can't.
These are the nights where you invade my mind.
The thoughts you of are vivid, my imagination running wild with possibilities and ideas.
Everything feels so bittersweet and temporary.
And then the doubt sets in.
Finally one question is prevalent over all others.
What the hell am I doing?
Ian Jun 2014
He wanted to drown
Not in liquid, but in sound
Raucous rapture bellowing beneath
Hands too heavy to hold his own
These lions labeled ladies
Making ****** hearts sing.
The candid caucus of cartographers
With eyes too cold to cry
Mapping and marring,
Partitioning paradox with every stroke
Witless wizardry without
Love and longing.
In a circus tent he found
That circuitous catharsis
Amid tremulous trapeze swinging
Watched by the sloughed skin of sinners
Vice and virtue muddied by malice.
Exploratory tongues
Giving preface to loneliness
Too tranquil to be twisted
Too torpid to be tangible
Romance recondite,
Sold to us by our world
Leaving us with nothing but
Fantasy and
Broken bones
Ian Feb 2013
Every song rings with them, their bittersweet echoes seep into the melodies
Every photo bring us back to a time we yearn for
Every day marks the beginning of another love, another loss, another memory
We are polluted with memories
We create memories every day
And each new one never really leaves
It simply manifests itself in a different facet of our lives
Be it a place,
A song,
A shirt,
A person,
The possibilities and triggers are endless
Living with them will bring everything from tears to joy
We may be poisoned by them
Or we may be lifted by them
But they are there, whether we like it or not
And just like the coffee stain on my desk
My memories will never leave me
Ian Dec 2012
Dear Girl,
I do not know in which tense I love you
I could be in love you now, I could have loved you, or I will love you
But I do know this
That I do in fact love you very much
I do not know you yet, Or maybe I do
But every breath I draw is one I draw for you
Maybe your eyes are green, or blue, or brown
All I know is they are the most perfect eyes that I have seen or will see
Girl, I want to spend my whole life with you
It is a real shame that you could be anyone
No, I take it back
It is beautiful that you could be anyone
It gives me hope that each day I wake
Could be the day I meet you
Or it could be the day we fall in love
Goodbye for now,
I will see you sometime
Ian Mar 2012
My mind is racing
But I cant beat my thoughts.
My heart is hammering
But the feeling is numbing.

My soul and my mind are at war
And I can't choose a side
So I'll just stay here on the sidelines

And watch the world unravel.
Ian May 2017
I can still remember.

That burning feeling of inspiration, bubbling up through my body.
It dominated me, defined me, led me to believe that I was my own hero.
A protagonist on a quest, a road to travel on, certainty in my bones.
Driven by love through the narration of my world, my story.
Words overflowed from my heart.
Staining the tracks, pages, and lilies of my life with my fire.
Every heartbeat resounded like the clanging of a tower's bells.
Each ring dictating time, order, purpose, place.

I can still remember.

The lingering taste of coffee on my tongue, my face sore from smiling.
Hours spent talking and listening.
The content of my life summarized like chapters of a book.
The way my heart vaulted when your eyes met mine.
It was like the moon pulling at the tides.
Giving the waves motion and momentum.
So I spilled my ink and blood, writing you into the story.

I can still remember.

What it was like when it was over.
I hadn't realized I had been living in a cell.
Scrawling my visions of the world onto every inch of those four walls.
Diagrams and diatribes, the things I considered to be myself.
Going mad in the most wonderful fashion.
As I left I saw them for what they were.
Mosaics and memorials.
Poison and poetry.
The passionate magic of first and finals, the ****** taste of loss.
But ****, it was beautiful all the same.

I can still remember.

What it felt like to move on.
The taste of freedom and fresh air, an urge to defy what was.
And become something more again.
But suddenly, the bleeding in my heart slowed.
The resounding clangs of my inner bells softly faded.
It took years,  
But one day I reached inside myself
Expecting to feel the fire burning inside me.

I can still remember.

The dread that came with the lack of heat.
The soul of myself, the definition of me as the hero.
Was only embers now.
The easy numbness that washed over me.
The determination and inspiration that was me had left.
I was broken, as I always was.
But I no longer knew myself as beautiful.
I was not a protagonist.
I had written myself out of my own story, slowly but surely.
There was no quest, no journey, no one to save or be saved by.
Just whatever I have become.

I hope one day to remember.

My clumsy and earnest return to form.
When my heart again bled ink and crackled with flame.
Ian Mar 2013
The pursuit of perfection has always confused me
Everyone striving to become more than themselves
And while this sounds very noble
It really boils down to
"Enough is never Enough"
Because in this endless race to become everything
We forget what it was like when we were something
So we trudge forward ignorant of our passing joys
Only aware of our seemingly constant suffering
And suddenly, without warning
We find ourselves lacking in what matters most
Too often we find ourselves hating, loathing, depressed
Because we realized we failed to achieve what we sought
When really all we ever needed
Was to look inside ourselves
And discover that it is not our weaknesses that made us imperfect
But that our broken bits and flaws
Made us into something
Ian Apr 2012
My mind fumbles for control
In a feeble attempt to assuage
The war drums that are beating inside my heart
Lightning arcs through my back
As I lash out around me
Reason is left beaten and humbled
Allowing my emotions to run rampant
Anger, fear, and hopeless arise from the maelstrom
That most would call their souls
My eyes bleed sadness
It coagulates on my cheeks
The fire that filled my inner furnace
Slowly dies down
Until not a single ember remains.
Ian Jan 2012
What I share with you is more intimate than anything any two lovers can share with their organs.
What I share with you is more important than two people tying the knot.
What I share with you is more special than a few cheesy words and a sloppy first kiss.

What I share with you is me.
You know me inside and out, upsides down and backwards.
Any words that leave my mouth you understand in a heartbeat.
Any time you need something of me, I would come running.

What I share with you is, friendship.
Ian Jul 2013
I know that I just got out of the shower
But my eyes aren't wet from the water
And I would just like to tell you the difference between
"Bye!" and saying goodbye
The former would be used at the end of a long day
When the sight of you at another point in my life
Is not just a possibility, but something that is assured
I know when I go to sleep that I don't have to worry about
Telling you everything that I needed you to hear
Because I know there will be more time
But saying goodbye are the words I use
When I am unsure of the next time I will see you
And goodbye are the words I will use when
I want you to know that even though our time is up
I will never forget you, and every day I will wake
With your image in my brain and my memories of you
Still fresh from dreaming
Goodbye means that in the moments that you are gone
I will ache and cry for you
I will remember you
I will be thinking of you when I am lying in bed
And wishing that I could remember the last words
That I spoke to you
And when I say goodbye I know you won't hear me
Even though my only wish would be
The chance
To say goodbye
Ian Dec 2013
It's funny, looking at my hands after all this time.
They do so much for me, they are the tools that allow me to do much of what defines me.
So here they are, splayed out in front of my face.
And I am trying to convince myself of something.
That maybe if my hands were just a little bigger, a little wider, a little stronger I could stop it.
I could catch all your tears as they fell.
I could hold you up when you fall.
I could point you in the direction where things wouldn't be so **** awful.
I could grip the fears and terrors of  our day to day and
I could beat back the sadness.
But I have only got my hands.
And they seem a little inadequate for the job I need to do.
Because my hands only have so much surface area
And just like sand in an open hand
Sadness slips through my fingers
I want to carry the weight of the world on my hands, and give your shoulders a much needed rest.
God knows,
I have tried.
But ****, I am sorry.
Because the results seem to be a little lackluster.
I know that I can't stop the sad days, even more than I can create the happy days.
Just know that for you, I will spread my hands like the wings I was never meant to have
And share your burden.
You are not Atlas, Job, or Cain,
And I love you because of that.
To a friend who worries me every once in a while.
Ian Oct 2013
I feel it beginning again
Like some sort of torch being lit for the first time
In a long time
Like that song you used to love, rediscovered
I found blue eyes again,
And with them I found that sort of hope
That invades your mind
I keep finding you in the corners,
That sort of beauty that too often takes
A lifetime of breaths to explain
You are taking root in my heart,
And I am scared again.
Because I am asking you to be the light
That hits my clear prism
To create something more incredible than
Either of us could have achieved on our own
Ian Oct 2013
Why do I even bother listening to the music.
Why do I even bother finding the words.
Why should I ever try, given that everything I do ends in failure.
I will never be him. I will never be like him.
And I cannot be him for you.
I know that I am not passionate,
I am not exciting,
I am in fact very plain.
And it doesn't matter that being plain would mean stability.
It doesn't matter that all he leaves in his wake are ashes.
Why does it ever matter, if all the flowers I have ever planted are fated to die.
Tell me, give me a reason why I should care.
I am mired in my mediocrity, stuck with myself.
I used to think I was lost somehow,
That no,
No there is a place for me out there.
I take that back, I thought there must be a place for me.
Well I guess that I was wrong.
Everyone keeps telling me what I deserve,
But I can't help but think that they are lying.
So I am left to my aches and my longings.
Left to watch my garden never grow.
Ian Jan 2012
It starts off with the heartbeats.
A few soft thumps, working its way until a pounding hammer of hearts.
Maybe a dance or two, a drink or three.
Nothing is real, because you are living your dreams.
Laughter surrounds the room, secrets float through the air carelessly.
Everything just crumbles away, leaving only raw emotion.
Music still playing, stringing the room with sweet melodies and beautiful sounds.
I want to listen to this song forever.
Ian Mar 2013
And I suppose that if you asked
I would carve you a home
In my heart
In my bones
And it wouldn't take so long
And it wouldn't be so bad
So **** it, let's try it
Because truly
All I've ever felt
I never felt alone
Ian Dec 2012
The taste of bile fills my mouth
Honestly, there are few words for how disgusted I am
I see the depravity of people
I watch as they throw their lives away
I am appalled by how easy it is for people to hurt one another
Because a heart is a tender thing, and has been known to break
You must learn to live in this world of hate
Because your Lovers are Cheaters
And your Friends are Liars
And your Family are your Judges
Where is the safety in it all
Where can I go to be real, to be safe, to be loved
Questions float throughout my mind
Asking what the **** was I
And what have you become
This isn't love
This is corruption
What is wrong with you
With me
With all of us
Ian Oct 2012
The smoke curls out of my mouth as I exhale the last cigarette. I begin to walk under a starry sky, and I wonder. As of late, I find myself more and more inclined to sympathize with Atlas. The more I think of you, the more I feel the weight of my mistakes, the weight of my decisions, the fact that I have to live with what I have and haven't done. They press down upon my shoulders with titanic force. It is a wonder I can even stand.
I want to live life through your eyes. I want to see what you see and love what you love. It might as well all be Wonderland to me. I want to know you better than you know yourself. If I am to give myself wholly, I must first fall for all of you. So let me in.
Let me take these weights off my shoulders and fall heels over head in love.
As my walk continues I look up, and search for the star that will grant my wish. Too bad my wish can only be granted by you.
Ian Jun 2013
You know, I would like to call this a poem
But really all it feels like is bleeding.
Like the flood that pumped through me is,
And trust me,
That hurts.
When I think of all,
I can't help but cringe.
Because somewhere in the between I lost the pieces of my puzzle,
That I was really looking for.
And that the love that I etched so carefully
Into the lines of your face
Ticked backwards, like a forgotten clock,
At his mention.
For you, I connected constellations in your freckles,
As though there was some kind of system of finding my
Way in this labyrinth that I know so well.
I found oceans of depth in those eyes,
That promised me salvation in happiness
That promised love in loss.
Although I have learned,
That when you explore too deep
It is easy to become lost.
The bleeding isn't a pattern,
There is no rhyme to this reason,
Only treason and tragedy.
So excuse the torrent,
Because I've already drowned in the flood.
Remember when flowers grew in the garden?
Ian Aug 2012
Let me get what I want.
Just this once,
Let me have my day.
I have waited for so very long,
And now I sit idly in my desperation.
Waiting for magic to happen.
Waiting for a **** falling star to strike me.
Waiting for inspiration.
I don't even know what I am doing anymore.
I am lost, and confused.
I do what I do because it has been the same miserable routine that I have followed like clockwork.
I am breaking.
All my sympathy has melted
Only to replaced with frigid apathy and disdain.
So where is the fairness?
Where is the love in this fairy tale?
Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want.
Just this once.
Ian Apr 2013
And I suppose that it is funny,
in a macabre sort of way
how we all forget the tale of Prometheus.
He who thought to bring gods level with men,
with a simple gift.
Yet his gift was one with no equal.
He gave mankind fire, that in turn gave us life,
and with life comes love, compassion, humanity.
But what did he recieve in return?
Thanks to his act of love
for his adopted progeny,
Prometheus was chained to a rock, destined
to die once every day.
His instestines,
set to be disgested by an eagle once a day.
His pain unrivaled,
for his original sin shed
light on our existence.
And for this, we write no songs,
we hold dear no poems,
we hallow no ground.
His flames gave birth to us,
and here we are,
choking on our own arrogance and hate.
So I suppose, that
in a sense Prometheus was the first nice guy,
who finished last.
Because being the Prometheus,
means there shall be no songs sung of you,
no poems written for you,
and you will be eclipsed by others.
Your deeds will go unloved,
your accolades will go unnoticed.
The world is a mean place,
and however cruel it is,
sometimes being and doing right
gets you nowhere.
Ian Mar 2013
Vines creep
where memories once lived
Flowers bloom
where lips once locked
Sapling takes root
where a heart once beat
Soil smothers
where words once spilled
Grass tangles
where fingles once fumbled
Ivy chokes
where eyes once gazed

It seems to be the
End of the road
Ian Oct 2012
I think the only way to describe being around you
Is like reading a story that will never stop being written
An endless tale, steeped in excitement and mystery
The kind of story that sets your teeth on edge
The kind that can make you laugh and cry
The kind that loves to make your heart leap and lurch
And every single day is a new chapter, new pages added to this amazing story
The only way to describe you is a painting
A beautifully fantastic painting
A wild painting
Splotches of color and emotion everywhere
Passion seeping out of its frame
The kind of painting you can stare at for hours
One mixed with all the colors you can imagine
And painted by the fingers of a child
But when I really think about it
You are indescribeable
And I guess with you, everything just sort of feels right
Ian Feb 2013
Soon the snow will melt
And after the snow has had it's time
The grass will grow again
And our trees will turn from skeletons to verdant forests
So it seems like now would be a great time
To start anew
I am tired
I am cold
And all I ask is for a hand to hold
So that we may grow new flowers
Ones that grow not in the ground
But within us
Flowers in the mind and the heart
A garden
Of sorts
Ian Jan 2013
I could not doubt the devotion of a Toy Soldier
To stand for so long
For what has been forsaken

His shoes
Which, once upon a time, had been black
Are now chipped and stained
His buttons
Once brilliant and polished
Are now dull and hanging only by threads
His face
Once adorned with regal features
Is now distorted and deformed

Tell me Toy Soldier
How heavy is that rifle
The one you have never dropped
The one you never gave up
And how weary are your legs
Cursed to carrying the burden of your own weight
For as long as you last

Tell me Toy Soldier
Where are you now
Lonely and forgotten
Outdated and obsolete

So why Toy Soldier, why
Do you stand there still
Ian May 2013
Red is your color, never blue or gold.
My finish is never met with hollers or cheers, simply silence.
And not of the reverent sort, the sort of clammy, piteous, and overbearing silence.
Not the quiet that is shared in the company of friends or lovers. Never that.
My place on the podium will only raise me a foot or two.
From where I am standing the stars seems so **** far.
My "Participant" ribbon lies crumpled in-between my fingers.
And the ever present "I'm so sorry, good try" is meted out with each conciliatory apology.
But this isn't the first time, and I know it won't be the last.
That'll I will take second place in this race.
But really, how could I ever really want to win,
When I can barely get people to acknowledge me.
It would be a miracle if they started to cheer.
Did I mention I don't believe in miracles?

Everyone grows up learning to lie.
They fill in the spaces where we can't find the words.
They substitute for the stories we never made.
They shield those we love from all the hurt in the world.
So I guess I don't feel too bad about living a few lies.
Despite the wounds they left never really healing over.
I could blame him and her for them, but what is the point.
They happened, there they are on my skin, for all to see.
No use in tears, those won't change anything.
But the best I can do is grit my teeth and bear it.
The time for strength will be for later.
And I wouldn't look back if I was stronger,
But then again Orpheus was just a man too.
So call me a pillar of salt, or a push over.
But I lost, and it hurts.
I finished last again, and I think that adage might have more truth to it than I thought.
Ian Feb 2012
Do you know that feeling?
When her head is on your chest, and the world has stopped to say "What a lucky *******.".
That feeling of being home, even if it isn't home, it is just the comfort of another's arms.
You will poke fun at her, laugh with her.
You will burn the memories so deep into your brain that nothing could ever hope to uproot them.
Because these are the memories that will last, the ones that you will remember forever.
How does it feel? To be the center of the universe in that moment, when your two bodies are intertwined.

The only thing that matters is her eyes. The way they sparkle when she laughs, the way they smile at you approvingly. A thousand songs and a million poems couldn't possibly capture the moments between you two. Not even the most beautiful of sunsets could match them. Even the tranquility of the stars themselves are pale comparisons compared to everything about her.

She will be there one day. To teach you how to feel once more.
Ian Jul 2013
An architects influence, extends only as far
As his lifetime
Although sculpted buildings may last well beyond
A single life
They are but toys for the times
Repurposed and retooled until
It carries nothing but shadows of it's origin
What should have been a schoolhouse
Could soon become a prison
What should have been a church
Would soon become a business
And in a backwards and cruel way
There is an odd sort of beauty in this
Because life is just a series of
Would have been, should have been, and could have been
That didn't.

— The End —