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 May 2015 Vicki Watson
Tiana
night
 May 2015 Vicki Watson
Tiana
3:11 am / The 23rd of May

I don’t remember the exact moment I realized I had fallen in love with you.

But I just remember holding your hand under the stars and realizing how much it was going to hurt when I would have to let it go.
Take these words and hold them dear
as proof that once I lingered here
within these hallowed written walls
that speak the fate of one and all.

Do not mourn me when I'm gone
heal your heart and carry on.
In sorrow ne'er my heart did dwell
for I was blessed to know you well.

Place no flowers, lay no stone
for barren earth is not my home
no marker there to bare my name
no mourners heads bowed deep in shame.

Shed a solitary tear,
then walk in light and never fear
as darkness creeps across the land
I will be there to hold your hand.
I no longer wish to create.
I no longer wish to write.
I don't want song, or word.
I have no need for art.

I am sounding out my request to any God that will listen.

Give me a foreign beach.
Give me a sunset.
Give me a hand to hold on to.

I wish my life to be poetry.
Every action a song.

I want my days to be the paper I spread my ink upon.
I want 'lost' to mean 'home'.

I want the salt water on my cheeks to be the sea.

Give me mountain tops.
Give me blistered feet.
Give me a mouth that knows my own, like voice.

Make me a villager.
Make me a vagabond.
I no longer wish to be a warrior.

I am sounding my request out to the universe, like a lighthouse.
Come to me.

Make me forget.
Make me forgotten.
Make me to be overlooked.
Make my days count.

Make my days count.

Let this life be poetry.

Give me someone to read it.
Give me someone to understand.

Give me someone to add a verse.
he sits at a wooden desk
with a candle
and a thought between his teeth
he has no room for
the pictures
caught in the wrinkles of his bed sheets

outside
he can hear the howl of the moon
and the creatures
that dwell
underneath its sliver skin

he opens the window
to let in the rain
that holds
between its fingers
damp cloths

and the pain of her
is carved
in the side of his desk

he climbed outside
to be
another
black figure

in the rain he howled
and ran like an animal
scaring the forest
the trees

bites his tongue
as hard as he could

wipes the blood off in the grass

peels back the sorrow
from his dark skin
as the rain
clean his bones

he climbs back though the window

in his room
where he is cold
and wooden
 Nov 2013 Vicki Watson
tk
the way you rub the sleep from your eyes in the morning
may be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen
before the day wears down your body
and creates a shadowy outline below your eyelashes
In that split second I can lose myself in you

I fall in love with the transparency of the moment
Such a simple action, yet so honest
and then you open your eyes
That night with you,
the stars rolled in,
blanketing the night in icy fire.
That night with you amidst the flames, the hearts eye lived and saw through self inspired haze.
That night with you in that desert place,
closed the many miles between our unremembered dreams and passions.
 Nov 2013 Vicki Watson
pied piper
After every sunset he stands before her, motionless as a leaf in winter’s grace
they gazed into each other’s eyes
and spoke the language of the night.
The candle between them spilled onto the wood under the burden of the flame it carried
and moments spent in the bliss of silence under the wax were buried

Often he would trace his fingers down her rested palm
only to feel the sensation of touching nothing.  
He had known her his entire life still he never knew her name
hours would pass by him wondering why they had met
and the candle continued to age under the burden of the flame.

His solace in the glow
reflected off those dark eyes
burning like embers of a dying fire
whom the night has come to claim,
his deep despair expressed as a sigh
and the candle continued to age under burden of the flame.

With a heavy heart he stepped away,
leaving her teary eyed
on the other side of the mirror.
Ease yourself unto my spirit
Gather your folds closely
I long to whisper secrets of myself to you
In the voice of an old woman
I will be wide eyed, turban tied
Sitting on the stoop of an old porch
Long skirt over knees
Watching empty streets
Fingers long, thin--wrinkled paper
Wrapped smartly round a cigar
Seducing smoke to the sky
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