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Jules Wilson Aug 2013
Cherry blossoms petals and rose pearl earrings,

An umbrella left stranded, stark and white,

left open on the pathway.

Silver heel imprints on the pebbles

find new faces each night.



I sit on a cold bench

that bathes in the sunlight,

holding hands with her picture.

I bid Paris goodbye.
Jules Wilson Aug 2013
An endless ringing of the phone,
but no one’s home to hear its drone.
Unopened letters with the stamps peeled off,
and pictures faded from forgotten thought.

Smoke surrounds your silhouette
as you lose yourself in the next cigarette.
And the phone keeps ringing,
and I know you're home,
but I think I'll keep
saying
that you're gone.
Jules Wilson Aug 2013
The clouds get darker every day

and the sun finds new ways to hide away.

God sends earthquakes, tornadoes, and floods,

fires that destroy everything that we love.

The embers burn brightly and we come together,

standing with hands linked. Our love is our shelter,

and I can only wonder if this is what He meant

to create disaster so that’d we repent.

We only heal when we’ve been broken.

We only cry when the wrong words are spoken,

but I think it’s beautiful that we’re learning to

cry like a waterfall at the happy things too.

Let the tears flow and the troubles fade

as we watch new beginnings come our way.

Weddings, birthdays, graduations, and more—

we cry, cry like babies, until we can’t anymore.

We read beautiful books, let the pages crinkle and fade.

We jump in the puddles and dance in the rain.

We make dandelion wishes and buttercup predictions.

We know our days are numbered and we are already missing

the days when we were younger

and the days that we were free,

when mistakes didn’t matter

and our world was drawn out with chalk on the street.

We knew we had it good, but it wasn’t until now

that I realized I didn’t need to be older to figure it all out.

You can only move forward, but you can always look back

at the colorful kites in the sky and the hot sand on the beach,

and be ready to take a little hand with you as you walk that path again

with the next generation that comes our way, ready to take it all in.

I’m only a quarter of the way through this life,

not even that, at seventeen,

and I’ve already got a good idea

of where we’re heading to.
Jules Wilson Aug 2013
The winter breeze strikes my face.

All I see are the holes and breaks

on the Earth below me,

in between the lands,

where wheat sails in meadows and

fish stream through cold rushes.

There are smoke covered forests

with no canopies to catch us

and sand speckled mountains

which bones roll down freely.


I measure the jump with a nickel and my thumb.

The clouds look so comforting,

but through them,

I fall.


I pin my legs together,

as if with a needle and a thread.

I close my eyes and savor it—

it’s a free fall in the end.
Jules Wilson Aug 2013
Believe me when I say I’m in a deeper love that I have ever been,

and I promise to love you more than J. Alfred Prufrock loved any woman.
Jules Wilson Aug 2013
I’ve had many a confusing dream about you,
ones that have grabbed me and nearly ****** me
off the bed, and others that have made me sink
deeper
into the sheets,
caught on your every word,
knowing it will end so soon and I’ll be
reaching out my hand for your hair so I can
tuck it behind your ear and tell you that—
but then the anchor rises and the ocean splits,
a miracle switch but for me it isn’t. Its just
guilt that I wanted to hold onto you for longer
when you’re no longer mine to hold onto,
and frustration that I couldn’t even use my time
wisely, the little time that I did have.

"Maybe next time,"
I whisper into the dawn.
But then I begin to harbor some hope that
you won’t come back to me
since you’re not mine to have
and its just cruelty that brings you back to me at night
and its just cruelty that makes you leave me when the sun rises
because you
are a moon that crosses the skies
in a circular motion
and I am
only a star
that knows how to keep on flying
away from sensible notion.
I know not what safety is
and have only my dreams to guide me.
Jules Wilson Aug 2013
Don’t talk to me about love,
like you even know her name,
like you know the way she held my hand and rubbed my back as I sobbed into her veins.
Don’t talk to me about love,
as if you’ve heard of her before,
as if you’ve walked along the Pacific shore and seen the bottled notes I wrote you every day but threw to the ocean so only love would know my truths.

Don’t talk to me like you know my pain,
like you’ve torn open my scars
and seen my pulsing heart beneath.

Don’t talk to me like you have felt my love
because, truly, you have never let it touch you.

So please, don’t talk to me about love.
I doubt you even know love’s true face.
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