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Tide Islands Mar 2015
I awaken
to sunlight
filtering through
the blinds
and pouring into
the empty
coffee cup
on the nightstand.
I am warm,
but not from
a lover.
The empty space
in my bed
and in my chest
serves as
a reminder
that the warmth
is from the
I sometimes wonder,
on mornings
like this,
if there is an
where you are
the one awake,
watching sunlight
filtering through
the blinds
and filling the
empty coffee cup
on the nightstand,
but not the
empty space
in your bed
or in your chest.
© J.E. DuPont
Tide Islands Mar 2015
Drinking won’t
save you.
And the drugs
never work.
Not even
or *** with
some dead-
eyed ****.
Though you
try and try,
sadly, you
never learn:
The next day,
it still hurts like
cigarette burns.
Wrote this back in 2010, and I hate to say, but it's still relevant.
© J.E. DuPont
Tide Islands Jan 2015
. .
. . . .
I used to
do it everyday.
I pushed it beneath my skin;
I pulled it out like the splinters lodged in my foot
that I got from falling down the wooden staircase.
I thought I was inhaling paradise,
when I was just swallowing
my own destruction.
. . . . . . .
But it made
me feel alive for the
first time in my life. So alive that,
at the time, I couldn't recognize the snare that had
hooked me at the bottom of those decaying stairs.
I refused to see the lie, dragging me
further into the depths
of hollow eyes.
. . . .
. .
One of the lowest points in my life.
© J.E. DuPont
Tide Islands Jan 2015
We are islands, you and I,
two lonely islands at low tide.

we are separate, yet, in this sea together
through rain, or shine, or any weather

I see you across the ocean blue,
and I want to give my love to you.

i know your shores i'll never reach
but the waves carry my love towards your beach

You smile in the way that islands do,
and the winds bring your love back to me, too.

we've learned to be happy sitting here
but the tides are changing fast, i fear

I can't love you forever, only a moment in time,
because soon we will drown, come high tide.

forever is a long time anyway
and i'm glad to have known you, if only for a day

Please, don't be afraid when we sink;
there's less meaning in eternity than in a blink.

know that i love you as we drown
i promise it's alright that we won't be around

It's okay, because, one day, everyone's gone.
The ocean waves will continue on...

i send my love to you once more
and the water rises above our shores

We were islands, you and me,
two lonely islands drowned in the sea.*

© c.v. & J.E. DuPont
In case you were ever wondering why my name is Tide Islands on here,
this is it.
This is one of the only collaboration poems I have ever done in my life.
It's special to me because it was written by my fiance and I when we  were teenagers.
(I am italics, he's regular font.)
Today is the anniversary of his death:
January 19th.
I apologize for his grammar (it was kind of his style), and the fact that this poem isn't really all that good since we wrote it when we were young, but I can't really change it now that he's gone.
I wish I had a date on this one, but unfortunately, I don't.
I never wrote the date when I was younger, which I really regret not doing.
But yeah.
Tide Islands Jan 2015
My sorrow has nourished these lands,
where I've sown
the tears of your remains.
It will continue until
the last gasp of air escapes my lungs
in a tomorrow far away.
The dense fog of despair will clear after the winds
carry me to you.
Then, sunlight shall pour through the clouds
and fill the fields
with a splendor that won't be observed
by people who are too busy
living with their minds closed off
and eyelids crusted shut.
In death, they shall join us as limbo roses, wild daisies,
Queen Anne's Lace, living on
in forgotten memories, vibrations, and colors only seen
through the cones of bee eyes.
One day, the glaciers will melt, and humans
will become mere fables
whispered about in the ballads of tidal waves
that eat away at the dust
from the haunted world of yesterday.
Not long from then,
the sun will engulf us, and we shall join the constellations
of a far off planet.
Galaxies will collide, and we'll become lost
between the cross stitches
of unnamed dimensions when time no longer ticks.
Eternity won't remember
our names, but it will have breathed them
for just a moment.
© J.E. DuPont
Tide Islands Jan 2015
The night fades like cigarette smoke into the fog,
as dawn is brought upon the horizon by loon calls.
Used needles and condoms sit between the rocks.
The waves push plastic bags and empty bottles.
Ghosts of lost dreams are haunting the shoreline.
You're looking at me, while I'm looking for salvation.
Although you're with me, I'm still dying inside.
I blink, hoping for rain instead of the sunlight.
If this is living, I'm not sure I want to be alive.
But you touch my hand and I look at your face,
and somehow your smile brings me far from here.
The colors in your eyes take me somewhere nice.
I wish I could drown there instead of rotting here.
You blink; I wonder if your hell is anything like mine.
Are you wishing you could drown in my eyes,
seeking salvation, hoping for rain instead of sunlight?
I'll never ask, because I know you won't tell.
We don't speak of these things. We only feel them,
and we feel them alone, because that is how we are.
The waters crash against the rocks; you sigh,
and, now, I'm certain, you're as empty as I am.
That sigh says more than your words ever have.
Your mind is more polluted than the murky waters,
twice as grimy as the spaces between the rocks.
The ghosts of your lost dreams are waltzing with mine.
I'll stay here alone, wandering the haunted shoreline
if it means you'll drown somewhere nice in my eyes
instead of rotting in this awful place with me.
I decided I'm going to post old poetry on the days I can get out of bed. Today was better than yesterday, but tomorrow could be five times as bad as today. I won't know. I'm trying.

© J.E. DuPont
Tide Islands Jan 2015
It’s that month again where everything’s frozen.
The earth, the air—it’s like time is broken.
I tell myself I just have to make it through one more January.
Then maybe I’ll be okay in the arms of February.
March will soon pass, carrying with it the Spring.
Perhaps the tears of April shall return my wings.
May will twist its roots through the damp earth.
Then June shall arrive and Summer will give birth
to the heat of July and a sky, cloudless blue.
I’ll be thinking of August, the month I first kissed you,
and remembering those years we spent together.
So long, yet so short, but somehow felt like forever.
Again it will be September, the month of your accident.
It was that same Fall, we found out I was pregnant.
Through October, I’ll build nothing but dread.
By the time November comes, I’ll be halfway dead.
December is preparation not for a beginning, but an end.
The cold Winters of January will return once again.
That was the month I lost you and our baby.
Time hasn’t healed me; every day feels like January.
But I promised myself I would make it through.
I must conquer each January. I must continue;
I am much unwell every January. I may not post for a while.
For sure, something will be posted on the 19th.

(It's weird writing the year...***)
© J.E. DuPont
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