Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Veronika Feb 18
Oh sweet flower, Lilac in colour
Whisper to me your final words.
Your stem hugs my ear, your petals do quiver
in the silent passage of the air, the wind.

Uprooted you lay here, soon to wither
Picked from the rest, by the hand
Your god
And for what reason
are you planted hither?
If only to pass on the message of your Lord

Please tell him I've heard it
And that I know not
what I did to deserve it,
And that I shall carry his message
As a seed of love in my heart.
Dedicated to a loved one
Veronika May 14
Tonight, I search for the shadow of a past unknown to me.
In it's depths I see what you confessed, once, some time ago.

Do you remember what had been said
under the moon's heavy eye, whose light was reflected in the furious waves of the winter sea?
That night you had smoked, and sighed, and read to me what you wrote
in the pages of my small notebook.

From the pages spilled forth confessions and tales of your first love.
A love whose hold I could still feel in your nervous voice.

In your eyes, I saw an expression of muted sorrow for that past,
Sorrow lingering, the failure of a first love,
And a lachrymose melancholy for things, which I could only grasp from the little
which you wrote and gave away.

I watched helplessly as you tore open your heart to display to me what troubles you still.
It now tears my heart.
It was hard to take in.

...

Tonight, I see the past through a window
Which I came across, still open
Through it I see a similar scene.
Close to the sea, on a rocky beach
Two figures sit, embracing each other
with a naive love, burning still with childish innocence.
The boy who's eyes are blinded by her beauty,
Whose heart is taken by her mind,
Declares his love in words and loving gestures.
Confessions so hot in nature that they burn the eyes of a distanced observer.
It is me.

...

Tonight, my thoughts wander,
down visions of dark alleyways and corridors I was never in
Seeing the happiest life he has ever known, in the arms of a girl which aren't mine.
He loved her, he did
With all his heart.
And I love him.

I love him, I really do, and I cannot contain myself.
Words in uncovered love letters are burned into my mind and
tear my heart still.
Kisses captured in photographs of white and grey take on a green colour in my heart.

O sickening love, why must I see these things? What morbid force compells me to torture myself with such thoughts?
Was it for this Pandora opened her box?
Veronika Feb 18
I remember standing in the sea
With a pale peach grasped between my hands,
And as the wave grew closer near,
I held it up against my lips.

And closer still, the wave came near,
And there I stood, still looking on
For what to me, was an entire year
I knew I'd let the wave swallow me whole.

And for a second I caught a glimpse
Of the wave curving over my head,
I closed my eyes and held my breath,
And let the wave wash over me.

Then there remaining, I still stood
having survived the passing wave,
Peach pressed still there, against my lips
I took a bite and tasted salt
And then the sweetness of the rest.
Cataloguing my childhood

— The End —