We've sailed cerulean seas to pastel shores, Known only to the glorious few, We have disembarked, ready to explore, As our lone ship waits slumbering in view of the glorious bay. Light paints daybreak across the sky. We see the rising sun through imagined jungle—and hesitate: The image lingers, but it must be done, Eyes close. Toward the interior we turn remembering, and hoping to return.
i stand here with a hole in my chest. someone unearthed the key and dug up all the rest, their grimy hands scratching and scraping into the dark. Unsure of what they'll find, but they wouldn't mind leaving the tomb with a few antiques, maybe one or two.
i wish they bagged my soul with them. it's rusting itself blue.
the cruel irony of preaching love & kindness when it will never happen to you
We are lying together, entwined As you tell me about that one time You fell in love with an explorer.
You tell me about how you both lay side by side, And with eyes wide, she pointed out to you her favorite constellations As you marked your favorite constellations of freckles On the wide expanse of her skin.
You tell me about the mountains you have traversed together; You tell me your relationship was an uphill battle every step of the way- But with hope for the future, You endured.
And then one day, She got tired of the constant uphill battle. She got tired of waiting for shooting stars; She got tired of you.
From then on, your heart was filled with hatred for adrenaline junkies and explorers.
But love, You, yourself, are an explorer With huge hopes and dreams And your heart on your sleeve.
I can see it in the way your eyes sparkle Whenever there is a hint of adventure; In the way you give your heart out freely, Wishing that one of the places you yearn to settle down in Accepts you with open arms.
(I still pray for the day When you'll wish to settle here.
But for the time being, I shall patiently wait for your arrival.)
You were a nomad in all things and every time you'd roll your caravan to town holding a backpack and beating your drum you'd reach out your hand which could grip like electricity so we'd set out together us gypsy lovers like birds that chase each other on the wind and we'd **** the world with our charm intoxicate with our savoir-faire until the seasons changed and you realized that howling at the moon was a one man job you bit and you scratched until wailing, I threw you back into the wild where you could have it all your solitude and your precious moon.
Ah, grief changes like seasons. The bitterness has arrived, n'est pas?
We float this concrete river as trees go about their day around us Visitors, we are just passing through to nowhere in particular. What we seek we may never find or even recognize. Still, we paddle on, subconscious cartographers exploring every fork we come across finding our way home.