If you saw me
I might be upside down,
Different spectra of vibrations
Pulsing from my goosebumped knees.
I imagine if I sweep my arms back and forth
Across the benthic stretches of our skies
I may feel your structure
In the crease of my thumb.
I reach my hand out to touch you.
Your elbow is somewhere in space,
Bent a certain posture.
It's possibly inverted,
But it could be rigid and reaching for my hair.
I think your forehead may point toward my collarbone,
Protruding like deer antlers.
In your universe my collarbone looks different,
Objects that will never be
metaphoric molds for my words,
But exist in every third line of your poetry
You may or may not write.
In-between our possible distance
There are millions of bodies,
Or just a few.
Neither of these options we can see
We will never know how close our blinks are.
Yet I can feel my breath rush down my chin,
Knowing if we ever found each other
Your exhale would twist into mine.
Playing with the idea of a multiverse. Title subject to change.
The liquid is surreal.
I thought this unnatural perfection was reserved for films flashing before your eyes,
But I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The water rushes freely, defying my imagination.
Triumphantly it flows contrasting the lazy trees it gives no heed.
Bursting over every obstacle, it
Caresses the mountainsides it calls home for just a moment,
Falling ever deeper into the gorges it crafts masterfully with time as its tool.
It ceases for no one and its color is unmatched.
O river of sweet liquid ice, I admire thee.
I stand on the edge of the riverbank and I marvel,
Time means nothing to the beings here.
The indigo fluid escapes grasping,
Like so many forgotten memories.
As my blurry cerulean reflection stares at me
I am conscious of the eras that have passed this place and left it untouched.
From whipped cream snow, to buttered sunshine days.
This setting transcends understanding.
There is no want for love,
No desire to sin or stay pure,
No lust for money or material worth.
I watch as the sun’s beams in their death throes
Discharge their savored finale upon the river.
It burbles back with a satisfied sigh.
Shadows envelop my wonderland, as I cascade into sleep.
Obstructed by the dams in my mind the despair builds into a reservoir.
Brimming, threatening to break, and I am
****** from my slumber.
Tears stream silently into the darkness
Escaping my overfull well.
Azure beams dance softly at first.
Anxiously they swim in their own light and
Suddenly come forth proclaiming their own birth.
Reveling in their existence as a new day starts, and
Again this place holds the power of ages.
They join me here, basking me in their glory, and
Out of the ashes of yesterday’s sorrows
Gushes a mighty river of joy.
The poem out is of order.
That’s not the mistake I was speaking of;
Letters germinate and syntax
grows from the roots of covered up blank space.
Solecism means a grammatical mistake in speech or writing.
The world is tilted, rose colored notes lilt from her mouth
The one I’ve tried so hard to recompense.
Softly falling upon my eyes I see him, myself
Coming forth from the past, present now in this instance
Pondering waves emanate from his figure
Nothing has changed, attempt two, three, ten thousand
And nothing is different.
Could we really change anything if we went back in time? Would we want to?
Dream mists swirl about me as the image of your face grows sharp
The clarity becomes unbearable, your eyes unblinking.
I am besotted in that picture fantasized in my sleep
My subconscious desires and wills subjugate me and torment my waking slumber
Then like the soft embrace of a summer nightfall’s breeze I drift into your kiss and I fall all over again.
Your distaste alarms me and I am jolted from my trance.
Lurching, my panic and anxiety grows to a point of crushing weight
And suddenly the fear of the truth hits me for I am in swirling mists no more.
Morning’s bland rays come forth and give me anchor in the bleakness of day
A respite from the dangers of my dream
A dream I had about my ex
Dishes surround us,
Verdigris embraces lusterless metal
And I look at you with an air of vertigo
I’m on the edge of understanding but there’s
An invisible wall.
Or is it a ceiling?
So this is what it feels like to be restrained
Shackles of my mind rattle against their firm anchor
Society crushes these spikes deeper into my skull
The taste of defeat suffuses my lungs.
I breathe in your disdain and still understand nothing
Of what I’ve done or am doing.
I go forth ignorant and blissless
Straining to overcome the walls in my head
The lack of understanding men (myself included) have of the societal issues that we assume are right or wrong and the stereotypes we don't even realize.
The picture is gray and colourless.
Shades of black pervade the photograph;
We are left to ponder at the real colors hidden therein.
Can’t you imagine what it was though?
See that vast horizon stretching like some
Big blue tarpaulin providing shelter to the Earth’s surface.
White foamed caps blinking, disappearing near and far.
The rock in the foreground beneath them becoming baked in the late August fever.
Rays of melted sunshine barred only by
Lofty lackadaisical puffs of moisture meandering across their endless plains.
Their bodies warmed by rock and soft smooth skin alike,
Recovering from the liquid ice from whence they came minutes before.
Simple refractions and reflections of light from millions of miles away dancing across
Infinitely changing patterns of molecules, ultimately landing on light kissed exteriors.
Two forms interlocked with passion’s grip,
And the sound of a breeze drifting sweet nature song into their minds from the Invisible Shore.
The taste of another being suffusing their mouths, searing their fingers, and engulfing their lungs.
It smells like warm crushed leaves, crashing waves, and contentment.
The beginning of autumn and the beginning of the end.
Fall into this image and continue with us.
Can’t you see them that evening?
Their emotions viciously tearing at their muscles, motions motivated by coursing chemicals.
Feathery sheets envelop them in the irony of the burdens to come.
Cluelessly they explore their youth in
Perfect rhythm; Imperfect beings consumed in all the wrong parts of life.
Now can you not recognize them?
Their despondent expressions are not unlike your own.
Weary faces from broken hearts.
Crushed by the movement of time, the fleeting feelings
They once had the chance to caress are nothing;
Nothing but the relapses we relive in sparks of neurons,
Electrified like the moments once were, flashed back to our mind’s eye.
Step back out into reality. Pause. Reminisce.
Where is that Unseen Shore? That refuge for the rest of our existence?
Is it but a figment of our imagination?
The breeze of the trees, the whole continent behind you, is
Hidden yet holds everything real and true.
Without it would we not be left to drift through the blue expanses of the oceans of doubt?
Is our Safe Harbor not in those we love?
These questions threaten to drown us, but
Who are we to know the answers?
— The End —