this time of year feels like a memory already

Heaven rained on me,
I breathed in the petrichor,
Bathed in the downpour.

You can stop,
turn everything off
And be still.
Enjoy the peace;
It’s been foreign for far too long.
Come back to me,
and be still.

Embrace the fragile, fresh air,
skin up on edge, hairs
raised in defence and be still.
Drink the fresh air deeply,
never been breathed in by me,
by someone else, but not me,
so be still.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

your eyes still look familiar
but the looks they give me now are foreign

These words are for me,
For I'm the one who's hurting,
I'm just healing myself.

I just have to look
at you
to feel it.

To know it
I have to look
away.

Like the pages
of a book
mid-tornado,

Fragments of
information, the pieces
all out of place.

Still,

I believe you
beg to be
read.

Night could not be blacker
here, no street light to see by,
but when the Moon is full
casting eerie glows over the sea;
phantoms appear dancing.