Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2016
she is a kaleidoscope. an ephemeral array
of dazzling multicolor. an LSD trip,
a hint of DMT, a tableau of ecstasy.
Thoreau once said, "all good things
are wild and free." i penned those lines
in the leather-bound journal i gave her
alongside a host of lineated iterations of empathyβ€”
the first of many sloppy attempts at poetry,
earnest ideas penned to arouse
and amuse my muse.

a hopeless romantic, through and through,
but wise enough to recognize the folly
of storming a castle barricaded by a dragon.
she's going to have to save herself. after all,
she has always been the heroine in her own story
and ****** in mine. so i'll bide my time,
organize and strategize. i'll build bridges
faster than the dragon can burn them.
i will raise an army and wait patiently
at the gates, soulful if not entirely sober.
after all, she is as mesmerizing as fine wineβ€”
and just as intoxicating.

when she chooses to kick down the door
and tear down the walls, i will yield
no ground when the barricades fall.
i've long since abandoned the sword for the pen
and bear only a shield to protect
and secure the health and safety
of the one who stole the stars from the skies
and adorns her eyes with the irises of nebulae.

'till then, i opine.
Pearson Bolt
Written by
Pearson Bolt  β’Ά
(β’Ά)   
509
   Free Bird, Argentum and Not Lauren
Please log in to view and add comments on poems