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Quiet Idealist Sep 2014
I packed my bags to board a bus
Headed for god-knows-where.
But as the flash of headlights
And hum of engine grew near,
I didn’t know whether to step onto
Or in front of that bus-

Thoughts lost in the heavy mist of that Sunday morning.
Quiet Idealist Sep 2014
I paint flowers
So they do not die.
But die they do
As die all does.

In the heat of summer
Or heat of flame;
In leafy green
Or paper’s ash.

Nothing remains
Excepts remains
Of what was
Now something else.

Die they do
As die all does.
But nothing dies
What does it mean to "die" when all the atoms that compose you are entirely recycled, living on throughout the universe forever?
Quiet Idealist Sep 2014
I tried to forget you by burning
The memories and hurt I carry.
But when all turned to ash,
I inhaled the fumes,
And you’re as much a part of me now
As ever before.

I fought off sleep with idle thoughts
And sometimes fire.
But what I didn’t dream at night,
I dreamt during the day-
Your face in window panes,
And puddles.

I remembered to forget you,
But never forgot to remember forgetting;
We've stayed in touch
By virtue of my trying to push you away.

And so, I tried to leave this place
Only to find that everything
I’m running from
Is what’s inside of me.
Quiet Idealist Apr 2013
If it's true we die twice -
or for some, a thousand times-
the only death that matters
is the very first.

The parts of me that die,
over time, amount to losses
of entire facets of my being,
these things never reborn.

It's true wounds heal;
but some wounds run so deep
that their damage makes
physical healing inconsequential.
Quiet Idealist Apr 2013
As shadows crawl across my sheets
In the silence of late night hours,
protesting the rise of tomorrow's sun,
I drum my pale, sweaty fingers
Against the tops of my tensed thighs in an angst
Not unlike the tension that arises
In the dull roar of these quiet hours.

In the morning, I will wake, breathe.
I will stretch as if I slept well.
And I'll make it through another day
knowing that the ephemeral respite
of sleep -so reliably comforting to you-
doesn't await me in like fashion.

No. My sheets are the hopes and fears
which weigh most heavily on my chest
in the absence of those who can see my struggle.
Quiet Idealist Apr 2013
I found more truth in your touch,
Than in any book I'd ever read.

And I felt more at home in your company,
Than I did in my own skin, without you.
Quiet Idealist Apr 2013
I don’t wholly understand you.
It’s possible I never will.
But I don’t need to know astronomy
To see the beauty of stars.

And while I may not
Always understand you,
I promise I’ll always be there
To cherish you & watch you shine.
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