The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.
When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.
If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.
But most people don’t see it.
Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.
The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
a popular song is out of my reach
lovers kissing or maybe lovers tragedy
I am a singlet, mind made up
to live the promise and gamble
that love incarnate will marry my soul.
Survival is get up, eat and get ready for the day. Work, go home, do some mindless activity, get ready for bed and sleep. Each day has the same structure, the same form.
Two things break me out of that; friends and books. Time with these fuels my heart to beat for more. More than day-after-day drudgery, more than simply fulfilling obligations.
With these, days are morning cuddles with my car and music that fills a peaceful house. They are short laughing conversations with my co-workers, or the way the sunlight hits the rain-laden clouds during my commute. They are the little moments of breath-stealing beauty in a good novel or my siblings' jokes. They are the clean feeling after a shower, and the soft warmth that curls around my bones when I bundle into bed for the night.
And this is living.
How the sunlight throws textured shadows on forested mountainsides.
Frost that clings onto windows, curling into icy, sharp rosettes.
The way clouds glow electric white in a soft summer sky.
How music can unfurl or burst or soar or stagger or peal or boom from people's mouths in a vast spectrum.
Sparks that flutter sky-high off a fire.
The way the ocean ripples or roars, blending its ever-contradicting nature into harmonious beauty.
There is so much breathtaking beauty in this world that I just can't help
but live in
Whippy willow-branch crowns
and crystal-cold pool water -
grass-tickled bare feet
and breathless trampoline bouncing -
comfortable, starlit darkness
and hours spent amongst the trees.
These are the memories that return with the summer sun,
and I cannot shake their carefree presence,
or how they pierce my heart.
Summer was always our joy.
Just another poem about my ex-best friend. We loved being outside during the summer, and those memories always come back to me when it starts to get warm again.