Why won't you answer my calls?
Does the phone ring off the wall
Are you thinking of him
Why do you rock my world...

I know love's a word away
You just need to say you love me
In a letter posted to the heavens
You shake my earth...

Do you think of me with each season
They'll keep changing
And we won't meet
But, I know we will have changed.

So, move on.

Nothing is louder than silence
No sound is more pure than
The soundless meditation of souls
And the beating of innocent hearts

Yet, I look for beauty
In an hourglass figure
Behind the reflection of a mirror
The condensed dew of a morning sapling

I know I will never find someone
To complete me in the ways you do
Hell and heaven oppose each other
While silence and emptiness are the closest of friends

I wish
To set myself on fire
But, people will talk
Of how I lost the courage to live on

Because that is what they do
In their solitary spaces behind
Church pews and library desks
They remember the few

Some remember them by words
And others keep their ashes
Visit their tombs years later
But, I know my books will be made of the regret that's left

Women will swoon over those coy lines
Their children will hear the tales
That I had concocted on a lonely night
When I gave you my everything

She was a thrifted sweater and denim and jersey knit sheets
Pizza breath and red wine and toothpaste
Alabaster skin and knotted hair and freckled shoulders
A tangible dream and my favorite good morning
She agreed to let me kiss her and I agreed to let her slip my shirt over my head before she became
Blood and tears
"I trusted you" and "I’m sorry"
Midnight poems and a drunk "I need you"
I’m afraid I loved you like the way I wrote

Literature takes a special place in the mind.
Where you can keep practicing reliving mysteries.
Celebrating adventure.
And preserve the childish imagination.

In the form of an enigma.
Where experience meets experience.
Where reality and dreams can coexist.
And there is a thin veneer that separates us all.

Opinion and fact are the same in a work of fiction.
Such is the nature of our perception.
Different from one another.
Existing in all in individual form, immersed in words.

The essence of literature is to rebuild the soul.
And tear the intellectual apart.
By introducing.
Love, peace, and spiritual communion.

it seems like we love all the same things,
besides each other


©L.F.