Daniel Samuelson

Daniel Samuelson Feb 2014

Don't interpret this as arrogance
But somehow I believe that every word I've penned of you has given you eternal life.
I don’t intend my mindless musings to last beyond the end of days.
But once the pen impacts the paper,
Once the key is struck,
My words obtain a permanence that cannot be undone.
The ways you built me up and broke me down
How you fulfilled my every dream, then showed me where they go to die
How you whispered to me where to find my heart, and then you ripped it out before my eyes.
Every action, every word, love and spite, here and now, immortalized.

If you love a poet
(And worse, if you choose to let him love you, too)
Then you, my dear, will never cease to be.

I'm so fantastic at not moving on. I'd make a great paperweight.

Daniel Samuelson Feb 2014

Fatal Flaw (10w)

I gave you my entire heart.
What a grievous mistake.

It's funny how my brain can be exploding with so many things to say and I'll write them all, but after hours of writing I can concentrate all of it into ten little words. Makes me feel a bit inane and unnecessarily wordy.

Daniel Samuelson Feb 2014

Progress, Perhaps

Finally, I took your pictures down
The ones that hung above my desk and haunted me
Reminding me of better days when I had all I ever wanted,
When you would look me in the eyes and I'd desire nothing more...
When our intertwined fingers were my definition of perfection...

But why should I keep our sentimental moments front and center in my view
When you've already burned the memories and scattered the ashes in the sea?

Too often I find my lovesick nostalgia suffocating me while I stare into your pretty Polaroid face.
So, I stuffed our every photo in the back side of a picture frame--
--a photo booth at senior prom, our graduation, a smiling push on a swing,
A black-and-white of holding hands, walking away, heads cast down but eyes lit bright--
--and I shoved them in a box, hoping that my mind will someday follow suit.

I have learned I need to let you go
Even though I never want to lose you.

*Update*: My best friend/roommate put up pictures of himself making faces and eating pizza in the empty spaces that her pictures once occupied. He's the best.

Daniel Samuelson Jan 2014

Shrapnel (10w)

Our
         love
          was
   a hand
   grenade.
   You pulled
      the pin.

Might elaborate on this idea a little bit for a future poem. A little cliché never killed anybody (at least I hope not. What a sad way to go).
*Update*: I made it a visual poem. But if it looks dumb, let me know and I'll probably change it back.

Daniel Samuelson Jan 2014

Tundra

As the flowers bow their heavy heads at the cusp of early winter,
In such a way do I withdraw, as freezing rains begin to fall.
When the dew becomes the frost, summer's grass recedes into the earth.
So do I surrender, stumble, and finally retreat within myself.
When the rain begins to pour upon the sand, it seeps between the grains and soaks into the ground
And in this way, my musings dissolve into the ocean of my mind.
The leaves of trees have long since fallen, trodden underfoot
As have my aspirations, love, and longing for the warmth.
Budding bushes, noting winter's cue, fall into their dormancy
As I close my eyes, let out a sigh, and lurch into a snowy sleep.

This sounds a little glum, but in all actuality I love winter and snow. In fact, if it wasn't 1:45 AM and I didn't have a cold I'd be sledding in it right now.

Daniel Samuelson Jan 2014

Anchor

You told me once I was an anchor for your soul, and I thought it poetry
That I would keep you steady and safe in the seas of everyday
And be forever held against your starboard side.

But how useful is an anchor to a vagabond?
It binds him to his place when he desires anything but to be stationary
And holds him back and burdens him as he goes about his daily life.

How useful is an anchor to a sinking ship?
Already slipping past the surface, the extra weight serving not a purpose
But to drag it to demise at a more accelerated rate.

How useful is an anchor to an aging sailor?
It only serves to remind him of ferocious storms, and perished comrades,
And countless years he spent and lost at sea.

How useful is an anchor to a roaming heart?
And of what benefit am I to you?

Daniel Samuelson Jan 2014

Folly

A settled man with the heart of a vagabond
belonging to an artful brain and clumsy hands,
to eloquent thoughts and a stuttering mouth,
to an overarching desire to fly and touch the clouds
and an overwhelming fear of falling to the ground.