"candlestick" poems
I am irrelevant.
I am nothing but a vessel.
I am a lantern to carry Light,
And a candlestick has never pled
"Someone please love me".
I am irrelevant.
I am assured in hope.
I am a stain glass window;
My purpose is to color in His plan
With the humble crayons
I've been given.
I am irrelevant.
I am here to serve.
I am here to wipe the dripping tears
Of crying candle wax
And light the oil in others.
I am irrelevant.
And the only relevance is His light.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
This woman speaks in tongues
Foreign languages roll from her mouth
Like summer fog ladled over the rim
Of Candlestick Park
In the not-so-distant
Far far away of long long ago
This woman speaks in rotund sentences
Effulgent with vocabulary
That shimmers with the electrified joy
Of lights over Ghirardelli Square
In the not-so-darkness
Of the clammy and cabalistic night
This woman speaks with her hands
Impresciable, implacable, and inconsolable
As she tries to mold untranslatable words
From air that is as thin
As the promises she’d preferred
And purchased with the shards of her heart
This woman speaks in lyrics
Arpeggios of adjectives and alliteration
That tumble acrobatically with the intricacy
And grace
Of a hummingbird in spring
On the kiss of a blossom
Rich and fragrant and giving as
This woman speaking in tongues
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 4:35 PM UTC
Candlestick lit,
predatory form divorced
Daybreak take your feet
Assault me with rough dissonant hands
Take from me your bright request
Down in the valley curtains part
The thin plane light overflows
Without light-seeking caresses in the clear sky
Bold accommodations of the sunbursts
To Save
Appalachia
The displeased living hear of me
With Vivomantic symbols
After blackened nights begin
Fornicating on your birthday
Off his downswing that has passed...
"How the call it is unfulfilled
your mind, thoroughly healed
Terrestrial white feathers
And tame plains lament
Yet less tame after
His darkness heals you".
That summer day when the rain shaded shallow
And as dull walls divorce the Bejeweled earth.
You don the nakedness of supernatural awakendness
Painted by these symbols Aiseralam spoke...
Appalachia
The displeased living hear of me
With Vivomantic symbols
After blackened nights begin
Fornicating on your birthday
Off his downswing that has passed...
Candlestick lit,
predatory form divorced
Daybreak take your feet
Assault me with rough dissonant hands
Take from me your bright request
Down in the valley curtains part
The thin plane light overflows
Without light-seeking caresses in the clear sky
Bold accommodations of the sunbursts
To Save
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 9:02 AM UTC
Do you know how many times my mother coughs so hard in an hour that it still surprises me she hasn’t lost a lung?
I wonder if all the money that she spends at the gas station on that tiny cardboard box was saved instead of spent, if she could manage to pay the bills before the late notice arrived in the mail.
How many times do you think she tries to quiet the change being pushed around the tabletop as she counts out the quarters, the dimes, the nickels, the pennies before she has enough to slide the coins across the counter at the station?
How many times is her anger thrown at me because nicotine is absent from the house?
I can only imagine the color inside her chest, protecting her lungs with a black tar after too many years of flicking a flame to a thin white candlestick stuck between her lips.
The house smells of smoke and the yellow filter lines the walls, around the frames that hang themselves by nails.
I clean the mirror and see the paper towel golden from the lingering tobacco. My clothes reek of a stench so strong no amount of perfume seems to be enough.
I’m paranoid that every time I’m in a room of people and someone mentions that it smells like smoke, if they know I harbor such a scent that I pour it off second handedly as if I inhale the drug too.
I open the mailbox and the temptation to “lose” the coupon booklet addressed to her grows stronger.
The business cards labeled with a barcode on the back subtracting a dollar off when you buy two packs strengthens the urge to scrabble up the silver coins or summons the question, “do you have five dollars? I’ll pay you back when I get paid on Friday.”
Friday never comes.
I often think about how much longer it will be until all the money spent on tiny cardboard boxes will be split between tobacco and medical bills.
How long can you smoke a pack a day and still be cancer-free?
And I wonder how it’s fair to watch your mother gamble with her life each time she places a thin cigarette between her lips.
Russian roulette with cancer is a game she’s become too good at.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
I am a miner. The light burns blue.
Waxy stalactites
Drip and thicken, tears
The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.
Black bat airs
Wrap me, raggy shawls,
Cold homicides.
They weld to me like plums.
Old cave of calcium
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,
Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the fish----
Christ! They are panes of ice,
A vice of knives,
A piranha
Religion, drinking
Its first communion out of my live toes.
The candle
Gulps and recovers its small altitude,
Its yellows hearten.
O love, how did you get here?
O embryo
Remembering, even in sleep,
Your crossed position.
The blood blooms clean
In you, ruby.
The pain
You wake to is not yours.
Love, love,
I have hung our cave with roses.
With soft rugs----
The last of Victoriana.
Let the stars
Plummet to their dark address,
Let the mercuric
Atoms that ******* drip
Into the terrible well,
You are the one
Solid the spaces lean on, envious.
You are the baby in the barn.
3.3k
***The mistress of my hereafter stole me away,
As she so oft does,
To a few minutes of quiet conversation.
In her silenced voice I could read my own
Long since Christianed anguish,
So near it is - but so ****** far away.
If only in Faraway we had us a private cottage,
Maybe then we could retire to our dreams.
The dressing room there
Would always be yours.
For I make everything yours
And call it so beforehand.
Thus making you the mistress
Of my entire hereafter.
My alpha - my omega.
This “Hereafter” is but a melancholy term ‘lest
We find ourselves stole away whilst
Communicating through our spirits.
For in spirit we have already met and
Shall surely meet again.
Let the certainty of it
Brighten us with its forth coming.
Thou surely must be the author
Of the utmost of our faith.
Faith in that day of heaven’s thought where
In Faraway the cottage nestles between
Twin peaks in the sweetest valley
Ever laid at your feet while eyes
See every days' blue azure sky.
There we dine together by candlelight
In the middle of the day while we
Cater the meal toward happiness.
In Faraway, all around us lives
In a rapturous praise along with all that ever was.
And if you should ever find my wit oppressing to
Your kindness, then show your disdain and
I will surely take my leave.
As we look together through the candlelight
Let us see only the highest values in each other.
Let my eyes put your name on notice
That if I were so employed as to be a slave
In this land called Faraway, then my heart
Would be no less than the prophet accommodated
Somewhere within your walls.
There with a stool and a candlestick
I would sit patiently waiting for your unmaking.
There my soul could be at peace from this world.
I’d lean against your wall with the candle in my hand,
I’d look into your eyes as I blew out the light.
The cottage would then come to life
As would the hearth within us.
We’d breathe in each other fueling the fire.
For love is the fuel that burns here in Faraway,
Our sweet vapors rising high into the sky.
They are bless'ed fires that never end.
Come - blow out the candle once more and
Let's lose our disguises–
Later I'll relight the candle so we can
Blow it out and do it all over again.***
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 8:38 AM UTC
I remember it was cold and quiet. We stood up beneath the scattering stars.
Silently staring at the landscape outspread in front of us, where the mountain touched the sky.
Losing count on the steps taken, you wondered how many dreams townspeople had to reach the summit tower seen from afar;
Spreading lights randomly with no purpose to guide. Little yet arrogant. Like a candlestick being put on the top of the world, accidentally.
Or maybe, incidentally placed to embody the messiah for those who would discover it that way — which might be peculiarly irrational.
Despite the lame fact, it still mesmerized you. I just knew the moment your starry eyes were seen in the dim night. And out of the blue, it captivated me too.
We sneaked from the despotic night, releasing laughs from the deepest and most untouched alley in our lungs. Our fears were freed.
Nonchalant towards the thing ahead of us, even to the time that felt prematurely withered.
"I remember once this priest brought hope to our house, and we just followed him since then", you said. That’s how you told me that miracle wasn’t the thing that kept us living, but hopes that enlightened.
Unyielding lost in the most chaotic ecstasy I have ever encountered. It became that moment when a knock on the door wouldn’t be able to break our reverie.
Modest. Humble.
We then walked unafraid through the open door that led us to the home where the sun rises.
Aug 14, 2022
Aug 14, 2022 at 9:26 AM UTC
take a course and forget what that course meant
take a job with the code enforcement
make a code and brutally enforce it
lead a horse, don't know where that horse went
sleeping dogs have the sharpest teeth
with a hunger from the heart beneath
who better could ever deserve this land
government visionary missionary businessman
make up a law just to break it
put it to sleep and then you wake it
take away and over-take it
it's my bedroll, let me make it
take a bow your job is done so keep it
make a candlestick and try to leap it
pull the wool down then fleece it
lead the sheep, forget where the sheep went
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 3:43 AM UTC
Each has meaning to one or all of us
personally
all i learned of these
i read as i grew
these fun loving rhymes
have some meaning or other
so i put these up
to bring out the childish side!!
:) <3 :) <3 :) <3 :) <3 :) <3 :) <3 :) <3
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
When the blazing sun is gone,
When the nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.
Then the traveller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.
In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.
As your bright and tiny spark,
Lights the traveller in the dark.
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
How I wonder what you are.
How I wonder what you are.
Jack be Nimble
Jack be Nimble
Jack, be nimble,
Jack, be quick,
Jack, jump over
The candlestick. Jack jumped high
Jack jumped low
Jack jumped over
and burned his toe.
Do You Know The Muffin Man
Do you know the Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man?
Do you know the Muffin Man
Who lives in Drury Lane?
Yes, I know the Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man.
Yes, I know the Muffin Man
Who lives in Drury Lane.
Humpty Dumpty
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.
Hush Little Baby
Hush, little baby, don't say a word,
Mama's going to buy you
a mockingbird.
And if that mockingbird won't sing,
Mama's going to buy you
a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Mama's going to buy you
a looking glass.
And if that looking glass gets broke,
Mama's going to buy you a billy goat.
And if that billy goat won't pull,
Mama's going to buy you
a cart and bull.
And if that cart and bull turn over,
Mama's going to buy you
a dog named Rover.
And if that dog named Rover
won't bark,
Mama's going to buy you
a horse and cart.
And if that horse and cart fall down,
You'll still be the sweetest
little baby in town.
Little Miss Muffet
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
If I moved a muscle right now a window would break.
If I took a solitary step the tiles beneath me would crack.
Submerged in the oscuridad save for a small pulse of luz called optimism because that’s just how I was raised.
I know I can’t pretend to make an oasis
Because how well did that work out for me last time
The lightbulbs can yell and scream and punch the air
But nothing will make them turn on without a power source.
I can’t be breathing hard or else the candle stub I have left will blow out I have to
Guard it but keep looking for my next step using its meager light trusting
That the beacon I look for is not further than the reaches of my
Light that I will with the remaining shards of my life to keep on
Reining now is uncertainty that is
diametrically opposed to the concept that the sun is gonna rise tomorrow I promise so let me stroke your hair and shroud you until it does.
I exist in this limbo of heeding the hours that come. The ticking of the clock drudges yet I gulp every last second as it arrives.
I voraciously **** the teaspoon of trust I have left that the
Audience is just watching the plot arc to progress and that
The dramatic irony of some surety is just beyond the radius of the hardly illuminated path beneath my shuddering feet.
Maybe someday I will stumble upon the next candlestick or something.
Maybe someday I’ll find a working light bulb buried in the snow or something.
But here I progress or something.
Un día a la vez or something.
Grappling foot by foot for something.
Something.
Dec 11, 2021
Dec 11, 2021 at 5:37 PM UTC
you turn me
into someone
I am not-
but-
the only time I am myself
is with you.
you are the sunshine:
with a small taste
I feel
radiant,
effortless,
full.
with too much,
I get burnt.
like a moth
to a light-bulb;
I seek you.
I will fry myself-
I will burn-
just to feel your warmth.
the hot sunshine
in the desert
forms
a mirage,
an oasis,
a luscious stream of water
to quench
my endless thirst.
when I am close enough
to reach it,
I realize there was
nothing.
all along-
my paradise-
nothing
but the hot,
dry sunshine
and my
never-fulfilled desire.
engulf my planet,
fatal fireball,
disguised as an
angel from afar;
I want my skin to melt
in your
blistering light,
like a candlestick.
I want to
melt into a puddle
of who I once was.
I don't know how to live without you.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
*You see me and I see you.
I have never met someone like you before.
You all of a sudden say you like me, is that true?
You open up a before locked up door.
As a warm cup of coffee you warm up my soul.
It is a feeling I had forgot.
But now I am no longer in control.
I guess I like you a lot.
You make me feel like I am 10 feet tall.
I can almost touch the blue sky.
But what if I loose my foothold and fall.
Would you catch me or let me die?
I feel so carefree in the cold and thin air.
I can see all the tiny people passing by.
But when I turned around, you were no longer there.
Did you forget me or was all of this just an evil lie?
Well, I guess there is no more to talk about.
So I suppose I should just let it dwell.
And as a candlestick being burned out.
I now bit you a bittersweet farewell.*
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
Princess in a tower
Lost my shoe on the twelfth hour
Met a grinning cat for tea
Feeling rather sleepy
The candlestick said "Be our guest"
It all seems strange, I confess
Poison apple upon my lips
Traded in my tail for legs and hips
Pumpkin carriage take me away
Under the sea where I can play all day
I'm late for a very important date
To expire at midnight is my fate
A frozen heart spells danger
You need an act of true love to change her
My dress changes from pink to blue
Fairy godmother chants bibiddy bobbidy boo
I've mashed all these tales into one
Just for a bit of fun.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
I tiptoed into your garden delight,
with blue jays singing in my eyes.
Those little birdies,
in flight formation,
to and from
your nest.
We had met earlier at a bar,
happenstance,
lit the candlestick.
Now in the soft meadow,
our breaths gasping,
as the flame grew.
So wild and passionate.
Suspended passiveness,
a winner.
You clawed.
You bit.
You echoed.
Flesh ripped from my back,
black of the night screaming,
as your cat rose.
Our pent out clouds bursting into the rain.
Your tail a wagging,
wagging,
beckoning the blue jays
onto another flight.
Battle wounded
but feeling good.
Those little birdies,
found flight formation,
with a zip in their wings,
to and from
your nest.
The night stretched on,
planting a seed of friendship
beyond your garden delight.
Needed rain feed our drought.
And it was a hoot to perch
outside your window sill
the next night
and next
as you cupped your hands.
Logan Robertson
5/3/2018
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 11:11 PM UTC
if i was a leaf blower i'd wish you were a stationary bike
so we could be forgotten together in an unused garage
i want to be a candlestick holder if you're a dinette set
so we can dance close under the chandelier in the quiet foyer
i'll be an old stained t-shirt if you're a chest of drawers
and i'll slip inside and live in the back of your heart forever
if you're a tennis ball and i'm a chewed up shoe we can
hide from the dog in the dark under the sofa holding hands
but i am only a rooftop
that you won't lay on
you are a thousand stars
out of reach and too beautiful to
acknowledge
me
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC
Flesh on flesh. Eyes watch eyes
Following fingers round curvatures. Caressing skin.
Skin on skin. Flesh in flesh.
A gin-sung-dream –
Silent utterances from the dark-side of a candlestick.
An unsung overture to Nature’s greatest gift
And Nature’s perfect curse.
Lips pursed open, speechless. Breathless.
Wide-white eyes scream STOP. blink. GO ON.
Glances flash between the flickers of candlelight ,
Meeting unknown looks in the black. Bodies
Embrace, writing words that have their own
Music. Heard only by its two composers.
Everywhere the other wishes to be –
Vivacity. Revelling in promiscuity.
Obscurity. Strangers share a warmth
As old as the ages.
A wafer-thin knife-edge of meaning.
Gin-song dreaming. An opaque tonic
For loneliness.
Hands in hands, heart fleeting.
The perfect curse of Man
In the stroking of skin.
Later, a vague sound of water, a towel
A drawer closing – a door latch clicks.
The world floods back.
Through the curtains,
Through the drainpipes
Your fleeting heart sheepishly returns,
Aching like a hangover.
Too much gin.
The momentary tonic wears off.
Heart in hand,
Hand to head.
Candlelit premonitions return.
Heated flesh. Arching backs.
Fingers through hair…
Salty fingers through oily hair and
Blood-red-wine lipstick smudges and
A singeing waxy smell makes you reel
To the window for air.
And there you are again,
In the middle of a city that knows you
More than your Alcoholic Lover,
A Melancholic Mother to all your needs,
Except the one you tried to soothe
A few hours back.
The one you pine for.
The one you lack.
Oh, this Humdrum City
Rushing you, with your heart in your hand, off your feet.
And your heart in the street
And the gin in your glass
Whenever you meet
Whoever it is that might
Make you complete…
A vague sound of water, a towel,
A candle extinguished, a door hinge creeks.
Wafer-thin. Flesh on flesh.
A belt buckle rings, a zip
A drawer closing, a door latch clicks.
The door latch clicks.
The door latch clicks.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
Every day the people do it
We can always see straight through it
Every day they ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’
‘Where are we going’ and ‘how far?’
Walking right through our arcade
Playing out the same charade
Are they coming in to buy?
Or look at every price and sigh?
‘Candlestick sir, antique broach?’
‘Sorry must get to the coach’
Occasionally while one man browses
They will look at the price of houses
But we know that they’ll never buy
Because the prices are too high
‘Salami, cheeses, tongue in jelly?’
But they just walk past the deli
From their course they never budge
Unless of course they want some fudge
‘Perhaps a painting or knick knack
A china tea *** letter rack?’
The gallery’s packed full of art
But from their cash they still won’t part
The café almost tempts them in
The smell of bacon tends to win
But then they look upon the clock
And wallets full still, off they flock
In short this daily stream of life
That travels through our little fief
Just amounts to so much teasing
Rather than shop keeper pleasing
There is a reason none the less
For their single-mindedness
Despite how varied our approach
We cannot hope to beat the coach
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:05 AM UTC
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey.
The little dog laughed,
"Jack, jump over the candlestick."
Along came a spider,
the cat and the fiddle,
who sat down beside her
and frightened Miss Muffet away.
"Hey, ****** ******
"Yes sir, yes sir."
Jack be nimble
Who lives down the lane.
Baa, baa, black sheep,
Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring,
and one for the little boy
who lives in Drury Lane.
All the king's horses and all the king's men;
To see such sport,
don't say a word.
"Have you any wool?"
"Do you know the Muffin Man?"
"Three bags full."
And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Jack, be quick,
Mama's going to buy you a looking glass.
One for the master,
Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird.
One for the dame,
Mama's going to buy you a billy goat.
Jack jumped high
The cow jumped over the moon.
Jack jumped low
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
Jack be nimble,
Mama's going to buy you a cart and bull.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Jack jumped over and burned his toe.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
And if that horse and cart fall down,
Hush, little baby,
one little Indian boy
couldn't put Humpty together again.
And if that mockingbird won't sing,
ring a ring o' roses,
and if that looking glass gets broke,
you'll still be the sweetest.
Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
did you ever see such a sight in your life,
as three blind mice
stole a pig, and away did run.
And if that billy goat won't pull
a dog named Rover,
see how they run,
they all ran after the farmer's wife,
and Tom was beat.
And if that cart and bull turn over,
and the pig was eat,
and Tom went crying,
Mama's going to buy you
A pocketful of posies.
And if that dog named Rover won't bark
down the street,
One little, two little, three little Indians,
Mama's going to buy you a horse and cart.
Much wants more, and loses all,
little baby in town.
Three blind mice,
who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
see how they run.
We all fall down.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
Cold rains, wet and weary... seeping through the sky,
spectres pass ’long side me... bent, with collars high,
my visions are invisible and no one sees me cry.
Minstrels of destruction... rapping at my door,
naked anvils aching... heavy hammers roar,
their monodies of emptiness pulse, bleeding through the floor.
House of cards collapsing... sagging walls of wax,
deuces in dissension... aces slip through cracks,
the Joker’s lost and lumbers by, alone, along the tracks.
Steeple steps dismantled... muted bells below,
ruins quake and tremble... frozen in the snow,
their pains implode within my brain while pale winds cruelly blow.
Prophets tumble temples... residues of tea
highways of no entrance... paths of destiny,
where phantoms haunt my nightmare dreams, tell tales of roaming free.
Foghorns moaning lonely... waves awash in sound
silver schooner sinking... swirling round and round,
at midnight’s stroke, the mainsail broke, and driftwood drifts aground.
Silent seas misshapen... moonbeams painted ***
teaspoons sifting ashes... fingers cold and numb,
an incandescent candlestick’s impaled the sinking sun.
Smothered fires smoking... oceans filled with ice,
lightning lashing windows... blades from paradise,
like tongues of limpid laughter licking wounds of sacrifice.
Flowing fields of flowers... silent harmony,
rolling river reveries... washing to the sea,
my love, she was my daylight bliss, she once belonged to me.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
The ballet stage was not a place for me
Late at night this child not too bright,
Stepped out
All forlorn
In long nightdress
Frilled all round
With red candlestick
And there on stage
At Sadlers Wells
She did propose
To dance composed
But having not an ounce
Of spatial sensé
Missed the placement of her feet
And at the end
As the audience clapped
She curtsied with her back
So none could see
This shining star
With her
candlestick
A flame
Just
The long and flowing hair
Which got her further
By far
This beautiful
Falling flower.
Love Mary ***
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
It's like when you hear a song playing on gas station speakers at 1:30 in the morning and you swear you know it even though it is as foreign as wearing your left shoe on your right foot
It's like starting over a game to see if you get a new ending or find a new easter egg except you haven't started over and you're still staring at the credits
It's like being on a plane for your first flight and having the engine give out when you've just left the runway and never flying again
It's like holding onto a candlestick while burning liquid wax spills over scalding each of your fingers but the fame is too beautiful to put out
It's like being neck deep in the ocean with the spray coating your face and being unable to discern if the salt you taste on your lips is from your own tears or the waves threatening to drown you
It's like always falling asleep before sunset and never seeing the moon making you believe she was never real in the first place and everyone just wants you to look foolish
Aug 13, 2021
Aug 13, 2021 at 3:17 PM UTC
~
Pulling the drapes,
closing the world off,
grays of morning dust
hidden behind truths
find me this day
knowing my own sorrow tastes of bitter apple
fallen from a stately tree I once stood beneath
on sunny days
breathing in the spring
cooling shade touching
my shoulders…shrugged now,
what’s the use
staring in every direction along smoke stained walls
finding a faded square where your picture once hung
nail holes in this nightmare
lonely as a table for one
offering mis-matched silverware,
a tarnished candlestick,
in cracked glass reachings
you were here once, I still feel your fingerprints
upon the soft walls of my heart…where I pushed you away
dark shadows approach
of my known shape
in singular motions
draining me of hope,
missing what I knew
my ear against the door I listen for your smile
as only silence calls to me from an empty hallway
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC