In those Summer days
When the green grass scratched my legs,
The mud cooled my toes
And I ran through the cold stream,
Pulling off green leaves
From the bushes by the house
And twigs from young trees.
Somehow the fall came—
I liked to call it Autumn—
And I walked slowly,
Picking up acorns and nuts
Before squirrels came
And quickly hid them away.
As morning frosts came,
I began to feel the chill.
Somehow the world changed,
As an apple will grow ripe,
And the world changed me.
In Winter's strong grasp I woke.
I looked around me
And in every grey shadow,
I saw a regret,
A what-if of circumstance:
A sharp memory,
Hanging like an icicle
Just waiting to fall.
Summer would sweetly call me,
And Autumn smiled,
But Winter's embrace choked me.
I would leave the world,
Fly back to the land of dreams,
If I knew a way.
I would cry to the grey sky,
Ask all the questions,
If I thought it would answer.
And so I slept deep,
Knowing nothing could be done
Unless the world changed,
Giving me fresh hope inside;
But it never would.
Spring has crept up to my door
It has knocked loudly
And shaken me from slumber.
Its face is grinning,
Smiling so wide, and laughing.
I've opened my door,
Not fearing a winter wind
For the first time now.
Spring calls me from my bedroom,
Asking me to play
And hang up my coat of doubt
By the scarf of shame
And the hat of my worries.
Spring pulls on my arm,
And even though it hurts now,
Somehow growing pains
Are better than the bedsores.
So take the shoes off my feet
And teach me to run again.
Hidden within the earthy depth
only emerges with time
only dances in tangent
now slips out with the butterflies.
Now the nightingales singing aloud!
One has spoken out, one blew
a kiss out off the dark seed.
Ah, what then broke through?
Up from the sky the blue-nymph
dropped down on the scene!
One that hid blurring that's image
on the mirror is that now been seen?
Pouring rain singing down to primulas
Paints it with all the colours of the wind
now the Spring picked up her paintbrush.
Rain some colour blow a kiss of the flower
paint it out of the mirror!
It tastes like blue raspberry cool-aid,
After a summer day full of fun,
And smells like freshly cut grass
Or sunscreen before a day in the sun.
It feels like the cold air in your lungs
As you play in freshly fallen snow
And sounds like Christmas caroling,
In case you didn't know.
It's the smell of the air before it rains
Or the calm before the storm.
It's the thunder in the distance
Or a cool breeze after it's been so warm.
It's pumpkin scented candles,
And brightly colored leaves
Its football on thanksgiving
And apples picked right from the trees
It's the taste of the salt in the air
And the cool of the mist from the sea
In case you ever had to ask
That's what nostalgia is to me
Sweet chubby cheeks
Small flower blossoming around
sending the love and the spring's spirit around, you smell like sun-flower
surrounded by rabbits running in their field, happily eating their carrots, and fishes swim deep in the oceans, happily swimming and greeting, kissing the pure soul of yours, I hope I get to see you again carrying you and biting those cheeks.
Could we just... take a walk in the rain?
The whole sky is a cloud and there’s no sun to come and make you feel like you’re a ghost.
Can I... kiss your colourless lips to the sounds of a city that never sleeps?
You are everything warm, like my favourite cup of coffee.
I could pull you closer and it’d feel just like summer.
Would it be okay... if I asked you for a dance?
I want to know the steady beat of my heart against yours;
I want to feel the rhythm of my body moving in sync with one so frail, but with a heart so strong.
Is it alright... for me to promise you something?
I won't let the rain wash you away.
I'll make sure the sun knows your name.
Like the quiet pitter patter of this rain, your eyes hold the beginning of a storm, but there has never been anything so gentle in life, before.
caramel apple eyes
with no smile,
just a smirk
maybe you'll spare me
from my two year and counting sentence
but it seems unlikely
that i'll be able to get over you,
because if I haven't already
I never will.
Tell me why I can only formulate magnificent proses when they
come from a spot of mourning that you left in the pits of my rotting stomach
it's an ethereal feel that links me back to the sea
your scent draws me in close,
how I desperately want to jump off a cliff to save myself from your grasp.
I spend countless nights huddled in a corner of my room
and I've come to the conclusion that love is only good
when you're in it.
I return to the ocean cliff every day,
looking out to try to pinpoint the bottom of the raging blue rapids beneath where I stand 133 feet up.
Maybe if I can dance closer to the edge,
you'll take notice and save me before I fall
but who am I kidding?
I was the one to take things too far,
I don't want to finish this poem.
I imagined our last goodbye
would be something for the screens-
you would be about to board a train
(you were always the one to say goodbye)
I would make my way through the bustling crowd
and find you through the smoke
as you'd turn around,
the wind from a moving train would brush my hair ever so slightly
that at that exact moment,
you'd fancy me the prettiest girl to cross paths with
as a tear would escape from the corner of my eye,
i'd whisper from across the station;
"please don't leave me"
you are moving to Seattle-
out west to a city that never shows sun
it was meant for you.
you want to be a Bio major,
and you want to spend the rest of your days in the mountains.
Seattle is far away from the sub(urban) town you leave behind
and you never gave me the chance to see you through.
I will never forgive myself for the things I said,
but mistaking every stranger with long brown hair
and caramel-apple eyes
is punishment enough.
you are moving to Seattle,
and although I feel a bittersweet sensation
of being happy that you finally are getting your wish
(to, quote, "be away from you and this stupid fucking sleepy suburbia that offers me nothing but painful memories)
I can't help but torture myself
as I visualize you pursuing your dreams,
meeting beautiful, pale strangers that become your new friends
or finally gathering the courage to turn behind your chair and ask the
quiet redhead sitting behind you in your American Lit. class
if she'd like to grab coffee after lecture.
how can I sit back at home,
watching your through a blank, glass screen
seeing you move into the future
while i'm still stuck in the past,
heartbroken over losing the boy who left me in this do nothing town
as he moved on