As I swim through the Ocean Breadth,
A Turtle—or the like—
Who fears a Few but not of Death—
Returns The Caller's Hike.

It passes by a kindly Wave—
A gently smiled nod—
Perhaps it grieved a Deed unsaved—
A Sorrow left uncaught.

I make my way to grab its Tail
and question what it knew—
It merely turns its Head to wail:
I am not of the Few!

What more of us should Timing take—
When things were never sown—
But heading backwards has a Stake
of never having Grown.

The space between us is not just miles—  
it’s the ache in my ribs when I breathe,  
the way my hands forget their purpose  
without the weight of your hips to hold.  

I am a house with no windows,  
a room where the light refuses to stay.
  
The world feels like a poorly written script—  
everyone else is laughing, but I can’t find the joke.  

I want to kiss you so badly it feels like a crime,  
like the universe has locked your lips in a glass case  
and hung a sign that says Do Not Touch.
  
But I would break every rule,  
shatter every law of physics,  
just to feel the warmth of your mouth on mine.  

I miss the way your voice wraps around my name,  
how it sounds like a prayer I didn’t know I needed.
  
I miss the way your laughter spills into the room,  
a symphony I’d trade my silence for in a heartbeat.  

I want to marry you—  
not in the way they show in movies,  
with the white dress and the perfect vows,  
but in the way that feels like coming home,  
like finding the missing piece of a puzzle  
I didn’t even know I was solving.  

Without you, the world is a grayscale film,  
a song played on a broken piano.
  
I am a shadow of myself,  
a half-finished poem  
waiting for your hands to write the ending.  

Come back to me.

Or let me come to you.
  
Let me close this distance,  
this unbearable, infinite space  
that feels like it’s swallowing me whole.  

I am not whole without you.
  
I am not anything.

The sun is broad above the forests,
intoxicating, blinding bright.
A moment of perfection, flawless,
a quiet place, almost a rite

of passage for transcending all
the measly binds of blood and flesh.

I lie beneath the sun, I crawl
the veins of this subastral trench.

I gaze upon how far I've come,
I weep upon what's left to creep,
whoever hikes a mountain lone
will feel it's hillside twice as steep.

Alone with thoughts there's nothing better
than doubting your way to the peak.
Sometimes I wonder, would I ever
walk paths, not knowing where they lead.

January 30, 2025

I will write today. I will write about something totally abstract, but the knots will untangle and form a photo of you. I will try to ignore you, I will try to not write about you, but today, I will fail.

September 28, 2033

I will have forgotten about you for many years, and on this day, when I go to write a grocery list, your name will flow out of my pen. I feel like a fire when I think of you.

June 22, 2056

I will remember you today, and I will be okay with it. I will think about you with a smile on my face, and I will be content.

June 16, 2091

Today is the day I will die, and when seven seconds of my happiest moments are flashing through my mind, I will not see you once, and I will perish with a smile.

Mysterious models.
Manufactured.
By argon-hearted stars.
Nefarious apostles,
have youth fractured.
Why? Ma & Da's gone.
Departed for Mars.

When surroundings & reality,
are surreal.
You're out of body/don't know how to deal.
Because meaningful,
contact is imagined.
Along with,
how you're not taught to feel.

Destiny is caught,
in an optimistic eyeful,
but, held in the hands,
of glimpsed emptiness.
Those hollow fists, will drop,
the future, set insight, to crash.
Lips, look above,
rather, wry-ful.
Unable to face,
myopic unfriendliness.
They're content, to cozy up,
next to a rash;
- stress induced psoriasis -
caused by; a post-traumatic past.

© poormansdreams