#conneticut
i am stuck in a
tangerine dream.
a breath of fresh air
or just air
that seems fresh
to me.
red face
quilled with ice cold
water.
there is only beauty
between the cracks
of contrast.
//
i cant call myself
a poet
if i dont tell you
that her lips
look soft.
they could heal me
like a bandaid
and hurt just as much
to peel off.
it doesnt feel like
virginia yet.
maybe only
vermont
or conneticut.
but im ready
to go home
if home feels
like it used to.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
Lines marked the echos of a time long ago
Our steps aligned, and hands entwined
lingering down across the battlefield.
Whispered thoughts, that escaped
your pain there etched on your face,
letting out the secrets too hard to bear.
Remember, fort Griswold?
Where we surrendered for a moment
Arms open wide, as I kissed you one last time
admitting to a care that was growing,
in spite of it all.
There on that knoll you made your strength known
picking me up when I fell letting your hands carry me.
Broken soldier.
I remember you.
Do you remember me?
I'd been so sure I knew it all
until we were there,
and words were spoken and I saw
what you did hide there.
Upon the battlefield where blood was shed
Not one of them surrendered, and wound up dead
years ago, and I knew it well
You'd seen your own fort griswold.
Out there in the desert, and the war a muck
grenades, and the sound of machine fire too much.
Death, and dying every which way.
If I'd never been there, and you'd never said
t'would be easier to forget you, but it's not that.
And I wonder of Griswold, and the destruction
of time.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC