After the dazzle of day is gone,
Only the dark, dark night shows to my eyes the stars;
After the clangor of ***** majestic, or chorus, or perfect band,
Silent, athwart my soul, moves the symphony true.

To
Hold
A
Moment
In
Your
Hand
Is
Like
Trying
To
Hold
Sun
Dried
Sand

Escaping
Through
Each
Wrinkle
On your
Palm


To
Sing
A
Song
In
Your
Heart
Is just
The
Same
As
Pulling
One
Apart
Each
And
Every
Symphony
Waiting for its
Destiny
To change
A
LIFE

I've found the true love that I was always looking for.

Right inside my own heart.

Every palpation, a symphony.

Playing my life along.

Cigarettes,
and hypnotic glances
within her
hazel brown eyes.
Moonlight,
too short of her
innocent beauty;
the dreadful silence
resonated like a
harmonizing violin chord
tuned in between our
intertwined souls.

With melodies floating through our lonesome hearts,
we created a symphony the day your lips touched mine
The cadence of our songs intertwined like roots in the soil,
and bloomed into a beautiful composure of strings
Moments of intensity and passion sung by the brass
and solemn woes whispered by the woodwinds
all lead by the percussion's constant beat
When I stop to listen to the song that we nurtured
I can't hear a single note or rhythm
because my heart has stopped a thousand times
from your ability to smile with your eyes
your comforting embrace wrapped around mine
or your endless wonder I can't contain
and I have to remember how to breathe once more
to hear our symphony play what my heart couldn't

12 | 31 Poems for August 2016

I never knew that hearts could get played like grand pianos do.
The notes are exquisite but the pain and heartbreak are obviously not.
Maybe it is true; maybe my love is as bad as my handwriting is.
Maybe that explains why past lovers never had the patience to stay.
Maybe I’m slowly going a bit crazy and need you to gather some positive words to say.
Because honestly speaking, that’s something I could really use right now.
You’re a flower blooming in a world full of concrete walls; it’s wonderful watching you grow.
But somehow we still have bad blood between us like sickle-cell anaemia.
Loving you was like smoking a pack of cigarettes – you took my breath away but you were slowly killing me inside.
I never knew that hearts could get played like harps and violins do.
The symphony is exquisite but the pain and heartbreak are obviously not.
Maybe it is true; maybe my love is as bad as my handwriting is.
Maybe that explains why past lovers never had the patience to stay.
Maybe I’m slowly going a bit crazy and need you to gather some positive words to say.
Because that’s something I could really use right now instead of having you spewing words of hate.

Always choosing,
The fact that you love me.

Harsh words sound like,
Sweet symphonies;

Insults are merely,
Compliments:
In a language i am still learning.

The foriegness of being loved,
Is what keeps me here with you.
Realization has struck, but my body refuses to move.
Oh, what have i done?