the wolves are bearing their teeth
open your jaw, foul beast
howl your secrets into the night
and i will jot them down piece by piece.
there are colors yet to be seen
and stories yet to be told
so i must set myself forth,
the traveller in the dark,
to pick up the loose threads
and see where they go;
leave the door open,
i will return soon.
when i got to the top of the staircase
i half-expected to see you there
leaning against the wall
with your hands in your pockets
but here you are
sitting in a chair,
in my imagination.
will be uploading more stuff i wrote back in December!
someday, i will flee the echoes of finished years
and when my final breath is drawn,
i hope to slip into the fragile haven
located in between your fingers.
a poem for my flower, written on 120519
writing on the backs of hands,
strolling along meadows and dancing in the rain,
running through fields of wild flowers,
lacing fingers and pushing swings,
laying beneath glowing ***** of light,
our feet pressing against this unshaken earth;
we tie the hands of time together,
whenever our paths entwine,
gentle acts of love and joy,
preserved in the timeless pockets of our minds.
i built it out of stone,
and covered it in sand
and hours sleeping beside you
under old trees
do you remember?
we used to plant flowers
in a garden
because you liked the color green;
i tossed it into the sea
it sank almost immediately
a red flag cast out
a good time cherished;
there goes my love,
i will miss you.
sit in the same place and
think of things
wish i could tell you;
am pounding on the chambers of your heart
am shouting these words and
don't know if you're listening but
hope you hear the echoes.