The **** on her heart
tore open, and spilled into the sea--
I had seen this and dove in.

Her heart was a fountain, and I looked to it
as a source of purity.

You see a fire burning over there
You see a good time
You hear their singing
And you here their laughter

Unfortunately, you're stuck
Between your own home
And the vast lake;
The one covered in ice

You run down to the shore
And put a foot on it
To see if the ice
Will hold you

Before seeing enough
You put both feet on
And start running across
When suddenly -

You hear a small crack
You know it's goodbye
You see them still singing a jovial tune
And you know you won't again

That night went by so fast, almost as if it never happened.
Yet it went so slow that every single word and thought and emotion was processed like the meat you buy from the supermarket.
Yet some things are still so unclear.
The adventuring must have meant nothing to you.
The hours we spent laying on the hammock were so bittersweet.
Sweet when you held me in your warm embrace,
and bitter when you got up and walked away.

I still hear the sound of your voice and think of earthquakes.
I remember the low rumble coming from my heart;
or was it my lungs?
Either way, there was a very unnatural disaster occurring somewhere within my chest that day and I can’t help but think of the bike rides in the woods.
The winding roads, the rocks and branches, the trips and falls, the scratches and cuts, and how you kissed every single one.
Your lips were like a dream and I remember how your eyes looked when you told me about your father.
I didn't think someone so magnificent was capable of feeling that much pain and loneliness and maybe now I understand why you couldn't stay.

But that doesn't explain why you left me there almost as if to say,
"I changed my mind. Loving you is impossible. It’s too much work, it’s too much pain."
But if that's true, then why is it my heart being shattered between your teeth?
All I wanted was a little more time.

The city lights twinkle like the stars
In dark, starry sky.
Alone is a nice place to be...

For only a second,
As you blow away across the blue satin lake,
Won't you look over your shoulder?

I'll wait here
For I've come as far as these treacherous, dancing waters will let me.
Even further.

The midnight blue wins the heart
Of the wild, dark and dancing sunset.
The winds shall blow again...

                                        ~ Wordsmith

The moon adorns her bonnie bride
With veils of wind and rippling lake;

Cold fingertips, blind eyes, sealed shut;
My oath to keep; your word to break.

Pretty people don't lie, my love;
Murdered hearts don't feel but pain.

Your eyes saw me a stranger, love,
A stranger never to feel again.

Tears shine where silver letters shone;
Stone memories, lost; 'neath the tree,

I await you, love, my life in the past
And a fistful of stars for you and for me...

                                              ~Wordsmith

Sadness is but a drop of water in a lake of emotions

Amongst the stretches
Of chiseled sidewalk
Stuck with gum and bullet holes,

Waves of black water
Spilled over grass
Dangling in the pull
Of the moon's smirk.

Strung from strands
Of yarn not yet dyed
Hung a bench of sticks
And thorns and buds
With the potential to be
Pretty,

And with shoes cuffing
The ankles of skin
Pale as the shallow murk
Of the wavering sky,
Swinging with the steady
Beat of the croaks
And raspy whispers from
A hat covered head,

A splash of water,
Cool with the gentle peace
Of the final page
Of a book unwritten,
But open to any reader
Who dare choke on the waves themselves.

Enveloped with pine-
Stretched across statelines:
Beauteous blue upon envious emerald
Pooled amongst royal white mountains
Adorned with grey jewels of centuries
Emitting sweet, earthy aroma
She caresses the land.
Mother to lakes hidden by her red fir,
Provider to the fiery yellow cress
Hydrant for all animals alike.
M(ama) Rose keeps a chary eye
on her joint creation:
The provider, the mother,
The revered, grandiose puddle
is threatened by scarcity.
The royal white mountains,
Remain royal- but lack frost,
And thus the water retreats
Shriveling back 13 feet from shoreline
This once sacrosanct lake---
Devastated.


Keep Tahoe Blue?
Keep Tahoe Wet.

It rained today, but it wasn't those March thunderstorms that all surprised us.
It rained from her dark brown eyes,
a mix of water and salt that you would think you were near the ocean and not Lake Michigan.
It was rare to see her cry,
water mixing with the dirt color of her eyes,
making the mud we all despised,
enough mud until you slip and fall whenever you're around her.
No one dared to wipe her tears,
we stood in fear,
because this beautiful creature was always the one who wiped ours.
But here she was,
small ocean waves crashing on the sandy color of her cheeks,
and we couldn't do anything about it,
because we weren't aware even the strongest broke,
even the lake had ocean waves.