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Lani Foronda Apr 2017
My dear Icarus,
Have you brought tales of gold for me?
You-- the master of self,
The one who held his own thread and shears.
Don't share of how hard you beat your wings
But how the air beat against your brow.
Don't echo your father's faded cries
But sing the songs of the Aegean sea--
Sing them only for me!

My sweet Icarus,
Is the world as grand as the travelers say?
Are crumbling maps and hand-spun tales nothing to compare?
I've read of Sicily, where your father rests his mourning head.
I've traced its rivers as they curved against my torn papyrus.
Sicily, the land of Aetna.
Oh, to watch the land shake at the beckoning of her call
(Oh, to fly free of these labyrinth walls)!

My darling Icarus,
Tell me-- is life better above the blanket of Grecian blue?
Is it better than what the Fates designed?
Is it better than what I hold today
(please, let it be more than today)?

My beloved Icarus,
Will you give me your wings--
The mingling of feather, wax, and dreams.
Will you give me your wings and
Your will to yearn higher and higher

So that I too can reach the city of gold.
May 24, 2016 + March 3, 2017
Lani Foronda Jan 2016
Winter is coming but I fear I am not ready.
I may have spent too much time chasing sunsets that I've failed to notice the leaves changing.
Reds, oranges, yellows, and browns--
They came upon me before I had a chance to grab a jacket.
Now I'm left outside shivering.

Longing for a warmer day.
But the only day is today,
And I am at a loss.

The leaves are finishing their descent, eagerly awaiting to see their friends once more.
And as I watch, I am envious, so envious.
These leaves-- they are quick to change.
Quick to adapt without a single worry of what's next.
They know that reunion is coming soon.
Soon they will feel the rough edges of those they grew up with.
Soon they will echo together.

Winter is coming.
Winter is coming.

They whisper quietly as they crunch underneath my boot.

*Winter is coming.
Come quickly, dear friend,
For winter is coming.
December 2015
Lani Foronda Aug 2015
"You cannot save him."*
I used to think that I could
Be a knight in shining armor
With my sword in the air and my head held higher.
I thought that I was better than what the mirror showed me.
***** streaks across my face?
            *War paint from my last battle.

Scuffed up shoes and calloused heels?
            Proof of a great highway escape.
Rope burns across my palms?
            A reminder of how strongly I held on.
However, someone should've called a magician because I’d become the next grand illusion.
            I was the backdrop
            The focal point
            The uneven lines
Which strained your eyes and made you feel as if something more was present.
But really— the trick was on me
            Because I wasn't a knight in shining armor but a child with a toy.
            I was a lifeguard who’d never learned how to swim.
            A fireman who choked on the flames.
            A therapist who’d never sat in her own chair.
*I was just a girl with a heart one size too big and mask worn too well.
April 19, 2015 / August 20, 2015
  Jul 2015 Lani Foronda
Et cetera
Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me all her secrets
She could not speak, she could not hear
Her fingers spoke, her eyes heard all

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me to always walk straight
Crooked things she said are bad
Unless they're crooked body parts

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me to always speak straight
Crooked words she said plant doubts
Unless they're crooked with natural fault

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me to always work straight
Crooked ways she said dig graves
Unless they're crooked by form

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me how to live a life-
With her crooked ways and crooked words;
In a not-so-crooked manner

Lani Foronda Jun 2015
I’ve always believed in closure but not when it pertained to you. You were more concerned with the queen of hearts and having the upper hand (rather than holding the right heart in your hands). You always desired to see what was up the other player’s sleeve but never checked your own. Poker face was not a mask but rather a lifestyle— one you played too well and too often for yourself.

There was never a big picture or a great road ahead of you. Only pit stops for the wandering souls. Life became less of the destination and more of the journey (little did you know where you were headed). You grew to care more about instances and examples rather than purpose and decision. You lacked depth and I pitied you for the shallow grave you had begun to dig.

And perhaps during those finite moments of pity, I realized that closure never existed to you. You see, closure meant answers. And answers meant words. And words meant speech. But the only tenant you contained in your vocabulary was silence. Silence was your upper hand while I was just another player in one of your infinite card games.
Lani Foronda Jun 2015
i will see you around sounds much better than goodbye.
June 06, 2014
The feelings I felt a year ago still reside in the pit of my stomach.
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