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  Jan 2015 skyblueandblack
MP
I think I loved you most the winter your heating was broken
And we’d stay inside all morning
Pretending to complain that we couldn’t get out of bed
Our clothes becoming little islands on the floor,
Ones that we could not quite find the courage to visit

Your hand stayed glued to my hip,
Your breath warming my shoulder
Like a long drag of whiskey
That kind that had a home so far away,
In a glass bottle on top of your refrigerator.
The one that would not be opened
Until that fateful day in February,
When everything went wrong

And on that unbearable night
When you joked that you’d freeze to death if I left you
There was a long silence
Like it might be true.

Now it’s warm enough
That I show too much skin when sitting in bars
And you avoid me like the plague,
Whispering in any girl’s ear that’s near to you
Every time you see me watching out of the corner of your eye

We should have stayed inside when the ice began to melt
Because I think
When those doors opened and we finally ventured outside
The world had changed,
And so had you and I.
skyblueandblack Jan 2015
A girl once wandered along a field of flowers, feet bare
Carefree and unafraid of what she might encounter there

She knew the thorns she removed from her staunch heart
were the launching point, from the point of depart

With the promises that come with the freedom of wings
that portend magical Hope and other beautiful things.

She stopped in the midst of flowers abounding
held out her arms to soak in the sun’s rays astounding

Her head raised high, her eyes serenely closed
no more tranquil an image could have been posed.



Soon thereafter, a feather from the heavens fell
suddenly appearing, as if cast from a spell

It gently danced and glided, sought out her hand
as if searching for a place to land

A feather of the most vibrant hues
like the flowers; reds, yellows, greens and blues.

No sooner had the feather ended its flight
there followed a most ethereal sight .

It was the most exquisite bird,
and suddenly,
something within the girl’s staunch heart stirred.



On her outstretched hand, the bird gracefully landed,
peered into her soul, her attention it commanded.

Resplendent and fine, its feathers in all those dazzling hues
like the flowers; reds, yellows, greens and blues.

She could not help but caress those fine feathers,
as she stood amidst the irises and the heathers.

The bird sang a melody so sanguine and so sweet
only briefly it lingered in sorrow,
a song reminiscent of times long past,
and a subtle promise of tomorrow.



As the bird then moved to the palm of her hand
its beauty, a stunning mesmerization;
the awareness that it may soon fly away
was a sudden and terrifying realization.

She held it with care, grateful for each moment
treasuring each offering like a gift from a lover
Is your heart here to stay, she wanted to ask,
or does it belong to another?

You are not from this place, she thought to herself
You belong in paradise, your heavenly abode
Are you visiting, dear wanderer? Or lost, searching for home?
Still pursuing a path along your designated road?

How easy it would be to close that hand
hold the exquisite bird there forever..
It would sing to her every day,
A bond that would not sever.

But love is not of a forced possession
In her being, this she knew.
That vibrant light would surely dim
There would be no more vibrant hue



And so she wandered on in the field of flowers,
towards the blazing horizon of the dusking sky.
The majestic bird perched upon her open hand
as it sang the songs of days gone by.

Fear remains, along with many thoughts awoken
they set behind the fiery orange-crimson sun,
they hide behind fragile promises spoken,
and gold-gilded intentions begun.

Twilight descends, infused with the disquiet dark brings
accentuated by the stillness of night..
‘but the morning brings strength to her restless wings*’
and Hope, emerges with the Light.
“Behind the blood-stained curtains of Love,
there are fields of flowers where lovers wander...
To wander in the fields of flowers, pull the thorns from your heart.”
~ Rumi
http://skyblueandblack.com/2014/04/09/wanderers-in-a-field-of-flowers/
*Jackson Browne
skyblueandblack Jan 2015
Reluctant traveler on a dusty road
on a path not of his choosing..
As he struggles with his load,
he wonders what he is losing.

Feet blistered from the harrowing walk
face weathered from the sun
his hands, they bleed
his throat is parched,
yet water does little for the need.

He convinces himself it is for the best
And accepts it in his mind.
But his heart is hesitant to catch up to his head
afraid there, of what it might find.

Reluctant traveler on the choppy seas
distance has not been smooth sailing..
His conflicted soul he tries to appease,
and he wonders if he is failing.

Steadily he moves, still looking back to the shore
of the ocean inside his mind.
Meanwhile, waiting at his horizon’s door,
is what he had prayed to find.

She waits for him inside his eyes
so deep he cannot see her
behind the lens where truth resides,
she waits for him to free her.

But on his boat he drifts along
carried by the current’s roll,
still looking back, he misses the beacon song
from the lighthouse of her soul.

And so she waits
resting deep,
deep within the ocean of his eyes.
As off he drifts,
drifts to sleep
while the emerald currents reflect the skies.

Their paths, though seemingly guided
may never come parallel;
And kismet conspired with the stars and collided
but only time can tell…
If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life. ~ Oscar Wilde

http://skyblueandblack.com/2014/04/24/reluctant-traveler/
skyblueandblack Jan 2015
we live and grow
and breathe
through scars ~
but heartache is not a metaphor..
http://skyblueandblack.com/2015/01/16/metaphor/
skyblueandblack Jan 2015
She was holding on to a man broken
every gesture made, every word spoken
was a desperate cry from a place so deep
that he can only reach it in his sleep

she holds him together so the pieces don’t fly away
keeping her balance as he kneels to pray
sometimes he sees her, sometimes he doesn’t
sometimes he lives in his past, sometimes his present

she implored, she beseeched
she tried action, she tried speech
if you cannot love me, let me know
if you will not love me, let me go

But he holds on, as if holding on for dear life
as if he is drowning and every stroke is in strife
as if she is the only thing keeping him afloat
as if she was every single word he ever wrote

and his eye remains to the shore -
someplace clear but far
it seems within reach yet
more distant than a star

more and more it appears an exercise in futility
finally admitting it is beyond her ability
she drops to her knees, eyes up to the Master
trying to prevent her heart’s impending disaster

the weight is so heavy, so hard to bear
hope only comes in the form of a prayer
with hardship comes ease, promises the Beloved
but try as she might, she cannot rise above it

despairingly close to losing all hope, she implored
her tender hands bleeding from the double-edged sword
would letting go bring relief or a tortuous void?
would her heart remember the previously enjoyed?



~ epilogue:

Then one quiet night upon an angel’s wing
she heard a voice that only an angel can bring
somewhere between a sigh and a scream
somewhere within  a half-awakened dream

She watched him float above the ocean waves
his  feathered wings skimming the waters surface
catching rays of sunlight into pristine prisms
a radiant reflection of blue-green and turquoise

From the edge of clouds,  he finally spoke
and his words became a poem
singing sweetly behind smiling eyes
gliding together over the ocean foam
http://skyblueandblack.com/2015/01/12/between-a-sigh-and-a-scream/
skyblueandblack Jan 2015
I heard a whisper in the darkness
from deep within
the blossoming of a dream
and as it bloomed I was falling
falling
into a voracious summer stream.

Fading away from the world
I found myself learning
that bliss
was a desperate yearning
from within a wuthering abyss.

The whisper faded into the night
as a form emerged
from a place within the mist,
and I heard an echo without a sound
as I stood immobile,
transfixed.
“Everything you see has its roots in the unseen world.
The forms may change, yet the essence remains the same”
~Rumi

http://skyblueandblack.com/2015/01/13/blossoming-of-a-dream/
skyblueandblack Jan 2015
These eyes,
they hide
a wall of tears
though it does nothing to quell the flame,
they hide behind
a wall of fears
that echoes the sound of your name.


This heart,
its roads,
its inlets and tributaries
that venture to you
and from you
are stained red from the wine you spilled
though it had no color.

These hands, these arms
as they hold and surround you
though they mean to provide you peaceful solace
they only seem to confound you.

This silence -
this silence though it may be golden
it is not always consent;
mere empty promises that keep me beholden
to words, like a coil that is wound
and wound,
betraying a silence that does indeed
have a sound.
http://skyblueandblack.com/2015/01/13/silence-has-a-sound/
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