Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
curling up into all sweet confusions that trickle down from your touch, we become the sky, as birds fall from above. i lose a tactician's leverage throughout this fog; a descension if you were the moon, an aberrance, if you were a single leaf, dripping from this tree coiling up to the lights hung on netted strings set under the darkness of the sky, where-ever you have been. where-ever you are. so, do the stars still shine solely for you, the nights you most need them? perhaps i have gone blind, just when i need to see you, more now than ever. perhaps i've just been sleeping a little too long, inside this cave. does the sky still divide the sea? but, undoing the buttons on your grip, you build declensions on foundations of realisation: with full authorship of your motions, you know you could go anywhere, love. you now know away from i is any road, every treadmark save this single one. and mine is hardly treacherous, but you'll still only find me in mountaintops, so i could barely blame you if the path gets too narrow, or too long-wound. do the clouds still turn images in full colour, late afternoon, to remind you of shapes i imitate in all fractured disappearances? i've seen retreat from so many sides now, the addition of yours could hardly make a dent. not that i would not lament a loss like you, more than anything. yet, don't worry, never worry, i can still stay in motion. still, if you see fit to collect all broken pieces of me, and build up this cottage, or nest, you can keep your heart here long as you like, darling.
0
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
a speechwriter's woes.
curling up into all sweet confusions that trickle down from your touch, we become the sky, as birds fall from above. i lose a tactician's leverage throughout this fog; a descension if you were the moon, an aberrance, if you were a single leaf, dripping from this tree coiling up to the lights hung on netted strings set under the darkness of the sky, where-ever you have been. where-ever you are. so, do the stars still shine solely for you, the nights you most need them? perhaps i have gone blind, just when i need to see you, more now than ever. perhaps i've just been sleeping a little too long, inside this cave. does the sky still divide the sea? but, undoing the buttons on your grip, you build declensions on foundations of realisation: with full authorship of your motions, you know you could go anywhere, love. you now know away from i is any road, every treadmark save this single one. and mine is hardly treacherous, but you'll still only find me in mountaintops, so i could barely blame you if the path gets too narrow, or too long-wound. do the clouds still turn images in full colour, late afternoon, to remind you of shapes i imitate in all fractured disappearances? i've seen retreat from so many sides now, the addition of yours could hardly make a dent. not that i would not lament a loss like you, more than anything. yet, don't worry, never worry, i can still stay in motion. still, if you see fit to collect all broken pieces of me, and build up this cottage, or nest, you can keep your heart here long as you like, darling.
tom-mccone
Written by
New Zealander
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem