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Raymond Johnson Jun 2013
on all of my legal documents my "address"
is listed as Woodgate Lane
but that's not really my home.

my home is by your side
arm in arm
soul in soul
floating on velvet sunsets on summer days
laughing and smiling
and growing and falling
farther and farther in love
sharing this small slice of infinity we call our lives.
Raymond Johnson May 2013
to everyone I’ve ever loved

i.
you were the first
you taught me so much
i spent six years loving you
and you never loved me back
you taught me how to quit
how to give up
how to fail
my only wish is that i learned sooner

ii.
i never knew that a simple “thank you”
could hurt the same as cold steel
carving up my body

i offered you my heart
and you told me
i could keep it

iii.
i’m sorry


iv.
you’ve ruined me
to this day i still dream of you
i cry out from fitful sleep
and wake with your name upon my lips

every word I write
is a futile attempt
to relive the blissful moments
i spent in your presence

the distance between us
is an ocean of sorrow
and i
cannot
swim
Raymond Johnson May 2013
i have forgotten how it feels
to have your fingers interlocked with mine
please remind me

i can't quite recall
the warmth of your head upon my chest
please remind me

i can't seem to describe
the singsong splendor with which words wander from your lips
please remind me

i have misplaced the memory
of the tantalizing texture of your lips
upon mine
please remind me

i have forgotten how it feels to be loved
please remind me
Raymond Johnson May 2013
somewhere there's a graveyard
with unmarked tombstones
and a distinct absence of bones
and the space under each headstone
is filled with all of the words that were never said
all of the tongues that were bitten and held
and all of the mouths that stayed shut
all of the thoughts that danced around the periphery of consciousness like shadows flickering in the firelight
a mausoleum of missed trains and missed chances
an ardent arrangement of alternate realities
a collection of the opportunities and objects that slipped through the cracks.
an obituary of What Could Have Been.
Raymond Johnson May 2013
Words
are composed of letters
and pronounced with mouths
and tongues of purpose
but in practice

words
cut deep like the sharpest blades
and convey concern like the softest hands
in sequential breaths
from the same sighing lungs.

some words sound like gunshots
and others like birdsongs.

some words feel like sunshine
and others like summer breezes.

these
                                     criss
crossing
                                                  ­       communicative
constructs

drive our wars
and soothe our hearts.
abstract, yet almost tangible
Words.
Raymond Johnson May 2013
at night when others sleep
we wander
and we weep
we traverse the barren expanse
guided by the winds of chance
in search of something more
wishing simply for external validation
for cessation of the petrification
of our hearts and our minds
for someone to color within our  lines
a warm body for the hard times
atonement for our crimes
of passion
and sin
longing for the simple things
hand in hand
skin on skin
an end to the chaos
and peace in all things.
Raymond Johnson May 2013
POETRY IS NOT PUBLISHED IN A BOOK
OR SCRIBBLED IN A JOURNAL.

IT IS NOT COMPOSED OF STRICT METER AND RHYME,
STANZA AND STRUCTURE,
ASSONANCE AND ALLITERATION.

POETRY IS NATURE.

POETRY IS NON-SEQUITUR.

POETRY IS THE WAY OUR HIPS AND LIPS
INTERTWINE LIKE GRASPING VINES
WITH DETERMINATION AND GRACE
THAT IS SIMPLY DIVINE.

POETRY IS THE WAY YOU WAKE UP ON A LAZY SUMMER SUNDAY MORNING
AND LISTEN TO THE HEARTBEAT OF YOUR LOVER
LYING NOT TOO FAR AWAY.

POETRY IS THE COMPASSION AND SELFLESS DESIRE
THAT CAUSES US TO BUY MEALS FOR STRANGERS
AND TIP EXTRA JUST FOR THE HELL OF IT.

POETRY IS THE FACT THAT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US IS ANOTHER INFINITELY RANDOM MANIFESTATION OF THE UNIVERSE ATTEMPTING TO UNDERSTAND ITSELF THROUGH CONVOLUTED COSMIC INTROSPECTION.

POETRY IS THE WAY THAT THE STARDUST FLOWS THROUGH OUR VEINS AND THE LIMITLESS POTENTIAL OF HUMAN CREATIVITY HIDES JUST OUT OF SIGHT BEHIND OUR EYES.

POETRY IS THE WAY THE WISE WINDS BLOW SOFTLY THROUGH THE TREES, WHISPERING SECRETS TO ANYONE WHO WISHES TO HEAR.

POETRY IS THE WAY THE RIVER LOVINGLY EMBRACES EACH AND EVERY PEBBLE IN THE RIVERBED LIKE A MOTHER HOLDING HER NEWBORN SONS.

POETRY IS ORGANIC.
MALLEABLE.
THESE WORDS ARE NOT POETRY -
LIFE IS POETRY.
DEATH IS POETRY.
LOVE -
LOSS -
STRIFE -
SUCCESS -
POETRY.
WE ARE POETRY.
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