Let’s dream of a place,
In between spaces of space
In this whimsical hour
Watch how time devour,
Our lyrical tryst
Amidst the winter mist

Sharing dream amid the flowers
for a couple of hours
The dreams in which I'm dying
Or rather just denying
Deluding the petty mind
Of the worldly grind

It’s a beautiful day
So dazed, we just lay
Birds and bees won’t disturb us,
While our thoughts turn incongruous
We’ll forget that we are even real
It’ll all be too surreal.

You open your eyes to say
Out comes only a pray
Slowly the dusk beckons
Breaking your heart it’s gone;
Gasping desires
Dreams on a pyre.

I think poetry is for the dependent
Those who can't strive a day without
Constant writing, perpetual recording, meticulous brushstrokes
On the painting of a vibrant story
Told through heavy language or light yet elegant babble

Or perhaps it's truly for the lost
Those lacerated and devastated
By life's inevitable nature,
The deviously maleficent,
Or even their own bewildered selves.

Still, I look back
At the days of unbecoming
Horrible ignorance and unprecedented knowledge
Proverbial wisdom and undiscerning youthfulness...
When life was a default wonder.

Poetry had not been my guide
Without a pillar I trudged on.
Yet! What a horrific period of life!
Oh, if only then I had the mystical treasure
Of which I certainly possess now

I think poetry is for all who appreciate it--
If not, then those who take from it,
The insecure, shameful, resentful, narcissistic, far off, logical, illogical, confounded, missing, gothic, dying, feral, lonely, creative, incapable, hopeful, and dead
It's our universal language
In times of hope or death

I crave a certain high,
the one I get
from the butterflies
that dance in
my stomach
whenever I see you.  
My parents warned me
about drugs on the street,
but never about the ones
with a heartbeat.

It's like cooking something for the first time,
burning your hand and never wanting to cook again.
Even though you know what you would cook deserves to be on the menu of some five star restaurant. One that lovers go to, to sip fine wine and stare off at the sunset as they learn how to fall in love all over again. You still can't bring yourself to do it. You can't turn on the stove because every time you do that same fiery sensation rushes through your veins, reminding you what it's like to burn. You shutter, trying to think what life would be like if you never turned the stove on in first place.

Why is it you?
Of all people to have the ability to ruin me
why is it you? Bryan?

You're awkward and too tall
on top unmitigated gall
you're plain rude.

So why do I want you?
Bryan?

In my mind there's a collection
of every time you've shown affection
and

The slightest inclination
only heightens my determination
to trip you.

I want you to fall hard
for me. Bryan.

With every facebooked text
it's been my only request
for the whole year.

Did you notice?
Bryan?

When the smallest appreciation
left my pupils dilated
it's so degrading

When my faith in you is fading
more praise is awaiting
I am stuck in this net.

What's so unfair
is that you're not even aware
of what you do to me.

If I told you, would you love me?
Bryan?

As he cupped my tear stained face in his strong hands,
He ran his finger along my slightly parted lips.

On drawing me as close as he possibly could to his warm bare heaving chest,
My heart almost missed a vital beat.
While he tenderly tipped his finger under my chin
He gazed lovingly into my soulful misted eyes.

As the precious words written below fell from his angelic lips;

“I love you.”  He softly whispered.
“I've always loved you.”
“Please come back to me.  After all this time apart, I now know I can never live without you.”
“Yes” was the only word I could manage to breathe.


J.L. Thomas.