As I gaze at the cityscape from atop this tall roof,
I can't help but feel ignited, a fulfilled desire.
"From up here the city lights burn,
like a thousand miles of fire."
And suddenly I forget why I came to the roof,
I am only concerned with absorbing the moment.
My soul drinks up the occasion with the thirst
of a lifetime craving, so then it went.
The bliss, the fire, the ecstasy, the moment...
It was only. One. Moment. before it slipped away.
For a high is not a high without a low,
and it is the low we experience day to day.
I have been wanting to toy around with the quoted line, because it really grabs me from a song. This is my rough draft at attempting that. I just ran with the story my mind came up with at the time.
Detachment from awareness, I was vulnerable.
The Dark Place was able to shake me again.
"Darkness cannot survive in the presence of light."
I was fearing a disturbing reality
until the salvation of light pulled stronger.
Your soul, my soul, manifesting connection in light.
You are light in my life; light in my life is you.
Never again will I see the moonlight reflected in your eyes,
But looking to the sky, the moon and starts have a new luminosity.
Another spinoff from my Dear You, poem. Just experimenting with incorporating spirituality in my writing, and I didn't remotely like anything else I wrote tonight.
On an early September evening
we are sitting outside together under moonlight.
Above us a black velvet sky sprinkled with diamonds;
the light of the stars dazzling on that night.
The infinite in the sky, it was nothing.
Quite dull seemed the moonlight and the stars.
They could never compare to the way they reflected in your eyes.
I'll remind you darling, I got lost in them; trapping me in behind bars.
As I lost myself in the way the moonlight reflected in your eyes,
our souls coalesce into oneness.
Within our beings I was able to feel a connection,
you glowed where once lay my void and emptiness.
How do I remain awake without your light?
Where do I get lost without your eyes?
I become cold without the radiation from your heart.
An emptiness lie where your heartbeat sang in rhythm with mine.
First spinoff from my Dear You, poem. This will likely get edited.
Taking a trip through my own history, and
I have met nostalgia.
Sifting through the mass of hoarded supplies
I find many pencils of times past.
In both ways physical and spiritual
they have traveled the world, and
they have been influential for me.
Some the second life for a tree, and
saturated with the oils of Morocco;
while others, mechanical in their composition, with
beach sand captured in each chamber.
These utensils carrying memories, and
on into the future with destiny to be determined.
Something based on an inspiration I have had for a long time, finally got a rough draft down to mess with from here.
Dozens of dreams
They are all
******* in my sheets
but you're never there,
to rescue me,
to save me.
Why are you never here?
(someone else always is)
July 2013. Random inspiration. Pure fiction.
I find expression of my inner self
in putting pencil to the paper.
There's a reason I trust paper
more than people.
Paper can't talk back;
it can't judge you,
It lets you take things back.
If you're writing in pencil,
circa July 2013
When I say I feel lost
I mean lost but
I also mean
I feel absent
I feel misplaced
I feel a lacking
a complete lacking
What is it like to feel found?
To feel rich with positive emotion,
to feel my own existence?
A small poem I wrote in frustration of depression back in July. I was searching for words that I could feel. Things are much better now than they were then. I am not sure if I like lines being so short, I may end up turning this into something longer, but for now this stands as is.