I tried to stay in reality
while the sight of you rested upon my eyelids
the thought of you running through my mind
and the feeling of you sends chills up my arms
as I tried to sleep at night


©L.F.

Distracted,
She’s holding the flat popcorn bag in hand,
Giggling into the phone while the boy
Idles time away rereading a well-worn tale.

It expands,
The bag in hand
Blowing up past her fingers
Onto countertops and kitchen floors.
Partially cooked kernels skid away
From giggles rising to shrieks
That shatter the lights around the pair and tears through the house.

The girl hunches in the kitchen,
Sheepish embarrassment erupting in pink blushes across the face,
While the boy slowly lowers the book made helmet.

His hands tremble, but she does not see,
For he shakes his head in exasperation
And goes for the brooms down the hall.

They spend the rest of the evening bathed in candlelight
Curled up on the couch with the taste of salt on their tongues
From the bag of chips shared between them.

I want to travel the Earth
following cotton candy sunsets
I want to drown my sadness
in cerulean blue waves
I want to live
like I dream
in vivid fantasy.

what does being a hopeless romantic mean?
is it writing poems about people who don't exist?
is it wanting to be older and in love so bad, while just being fourteen?
is it wanting to feel a presence of love, standing in a summers mist?
is it imagining arms around you every night?
is it thinking of someone taking you on long drives?
because it seems like it just might
be a little while longer before we live those lives


©L.F.

Fantasy is a Dream but Reality is not what it seems.

When you run your fingers through his hair,
They burn as hot as the orange strands
That streak through the red of his locks
Which are too warm these fall nights.

You’re not sure when you realized that
He wasn’t like you,
Human and soft enough to be pricked by the knife’s edge
That he playfully dragged across his tongue
While looking at you with eyes that refracted the amber light of his soul.

He’s not sure when he realized that he’d stay,
Far past the summer when you met
On the sandy banks of the lake that swallowed light
Until it was the same deep blue of your eyes,
Binding him to your side long after the sun set
And the rays upon the bed’s sheets had faded
Into a warm glow in the dark.

When he runs his hands over your toes,
Cooled by the coming winter
That wraps you up in wool sweaters
And leaves you huffing as he walks by in only jeans,
He realizes that he dare not leave
You to grow cold these coming nights.

Okay, I did it, I had to drive
a smouldering stake in his eye
screaming he lashed out

and in the panic, he couldn't see
with his other eye either
That was it, a good story

that I liked to tell, but
apparently, it's not good enough
for the sailors of today

who have seen skulls
in the Mount Etna caves
with a large hole in the middle

One-eyed giants died there
worthy of a hero
like me, they say

but I do know
that they were elephants
one-trunked quadrupeds

What is the matter with people
that they rather believe in fantasies
than in true, hard life?

Somewhere in the middle of the forrest,
a most peculiar bridge exists.
There is no path to it, no lake under it to rest.
It seems rather safe to cross, no dangers at your fists.

It has no purpose to be there, there is nothing on the other side.
When you are on top of it, nothing seems that different at all.
It's a small boat long in size, and three tree-trunks wide.
It's not that high, and the edges will prevent anyone to fall.

It's made with cobblestone and moss.
Nothing too modern or too old.
It showed nature who's boss.
It's been there for centruries I'm told.

When looking underneath, nothing's all that weird.
There's just dirt, leaves and grass to be seen.
It's not to be admired or be feared.
Nobody knows what the bridge is supposed to mean.

Somewhere in the middle of the forrest in my mind,
a most peculiar bridge is just standing there.
There is no path to lead you to it, or nothing at all to find.
There is no reason at all, anyone would care.