beneath the willow
is where I am hiding
reminiscing
recovering
imagining
discovering
beneath the willow
is where I am hiding

the sky is falling in reverse
expanding deep into the universe
oh distant star beautiful from afar but lost of hope when up close; I think the sky is falling in reverse

you happened, so I came to the conclusion that love cannot be real that is was solely an infatuation that you temporarily feel
so I shoved aside this momentary distraction of examining loves reaction
my mind was to willing to accept
but then, you happened

all is fair in love and war so darlings, load your rifles.

this is just me, pushing you away
all over again
though this time it's happening
whilst a smile is splitting my face

because maybe you'll listen
to the lies and the *******

maybe you'll leave
with your head held high and laughter spilling from your lungs

You asked me once,
if I'd written about you.
I'd smiled as I shook my head.
With every word I write, a part of you settles on the page, amongst the ink that never dries fast enough.
Leaving smudges across the page.

I used to believe the reason I picked up a pen, sprawling ink along a once pristine page was to rid myself of you.
Word by word, drawing you out to settle amongst the ink that never dries fast enough.
I reflect on a night, spent with a lover.
My hands refused to settle,
agitated by the urge to write.
Long, shaking lines made up the letters trailing around my bare legs.
A whispered voice calls me to return, the urge is gone.
Perhaps the writing isn't for the abandonment of you. Perhaps it is the last of you - all I have now.
Muddled amongst the ink that never dries fast enough.

A silent movement
the sun becoming entangled among the bright shimmer  
of each delicate wing.

Microscopic gusts of wind
propel the critter forward in tiny flutters,
the sight bringing such joy to each onlooker that beheld it.

A child runs below,
clapping small hands together as it's joy overflows into the world around it.

But there is a man,
many years have hardened his face to the world.
as he sits
on a bench
the happy families,
the small child,
walk,run,skip,
straight by
without seeing a thing.
But he sees
and he knows
of what disaster such beauty can cause.