"latch" poems
Insanity
Is
Leaving
The
Latch
Swigging
Inside
Your
Minds
Door.....
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
Fly with me to Paris
and We will climb
the Eiffel Tower
We'll see the Louvre
And walk along
the Avenue des
Champs Elysees
We will walk
alone together
along the great
Seine River
And latch
a lovers lock
upon the bridge
above the water
We can picnic
on the grass
in the grandest
park in Paris
Then embrace
within the shadows
of Notre Dame
Cathedral
Where there
We'll swear
Our love
forever sure
We will seal it
with a kiss
And know We
never missed
The times
and places
that make
A life
worthwhile.
-R.
8.26.17
-LA
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
Always it happens when we are not there--
The tree leaps up alive into the air,
Small open parasols of Chinese green
Wave on each twig. But who has ever seen
The latch sprung, the bud as it burst?
Spring always manages to get there first.
Lovers of wind, who will have been aware
Of a faint stirring in the empty air,
Look up one day through a dissolving screen
To find no star, but this multiplied green,
Shadow on shadow, singing sweet and clear.
Listen, lovers of wind, the leaves are here!
10.8k
With a potent kiss,
Delve into the depths of my jaded heart and lose yourself in me,
Burrow and latch yourself inside.
Synchronize with the remains of my mortal being.
Surge through a mess of broken veins and arteries,
Interfere with the synapses in my brain and dizzy my fragmented mind.
Send me dancing through a euphoria of vertigo.
Become a part of me, with a potent kiss.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 1:47 PM UTC
I am a mother, a wife
A friend, a teacher
I seek happiness
I love deep
Only souls not faces
Always loyal
I don't judge
I love to help
I see good in everyone
Which makes me naive at times
I am open to all
Hoping for a world
Where everyone fits
Labels don't exist
I latch to rules
Anxiety demands
I suffer from OCD
Always chasing order
Shackled by disinfection
I am comfortable in control
Leading the way
I seek to inspire
I believe in others
I am honest with my feelings
I value experience
And learn from them
I reflect on my day
Always trying to improve
I search for meaning in conversations
Enjoy learning new things daily
I play sports
Love music
Enjoy Art
Express myself in writes
Fascinated by abstracts
Reading words to gain insight
The grace in movement
The beauty in visual artistry
I love to re-discover nature
The acoustics of birds
Waterfalls and rain
Kissing falling snow
Connecting with our majestic sky
I love the stillness
Each morning brings
The dew sleeping in the emerald
The lacquered canvas
Of quiet lakes
Motionless
In something so vast
Yoga is my philosophy
A healthy
Body
Mind
And spirit
My destination is
The pursuit of enlightenment
In my life's pain
I am coming out of the spiral
Enjoying my journey
Seeing straight
Swimming the unalome
I feed my soul
Hoping IT can lead me
Leaving my ego in my wake
I remain unfinished
I continue to wear masks
Sometimes to hide
As I fear rejection
Still..
As happy as I seem
As lovely as I am
My soul has a shadow
Hidden inside
My essence traced
By shaded light
I am a survivor
Broken in places
Finally accepting my true self
Jl 2016
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
1
The other day I saw a picture of you.
Shirt buttoned up to your throat,
Pants cutting off the blood circulation in your pelvis,
Shoes shining brighter than the north star,
And a smile being pulled across your cheeks
Like an archer pulling a bow string.
I smiled back at my computer screen.
2
I’ve listened to this album at least 30 times.
I own three versions of it.
UK deluxe, US deluxe, Target Deluxe.
Everything about you is deluxe.
Your eyes, your voice, your breath
As it passes through the microphone and into my ears.
3
I believe in fate
But not so much in destiny.
I don’t scream at my reflection anymore
And I’m described as independent.
For the most part.
I’m a pretty trustworthy person
And I promise I’m not that desperate.
4
The music ripples through my veins
As I whip my curls at the mirror.
The hairbrush pressed against my mouth
And I repeat the lyrics that roll past your lips so smoothly.
5
I can almost feel your arms
Wrap around my waist before I go to sleep.
I had a dream
You and I were together
And you were happy
And I was happy
And everyone was happy.
But I know if my dream became reality
No one would be happy.
Jealousy would taint the spit on other girls’ tongues
And the distance between
New Jersey and Australia is too much.
Even for me.
5
I can almost feel your arms
Wrap around my waist before I got to sleep.
5
I can almost feel you.
5
We have the same eye color.
6
We have the same hair color.
7
I am just an insecure girl.
You are taking over the world.
You are stepping in the soil of every state.
And you won’t look at me
Longer for three seconds in the New York City heat.
8
I never thought I would be one of those girls.
One of those girls
Who latch onto a boy’s identity,
Not knowing his soul
But knowing his spirit.
I’ve seen you three times.
You don’t even realize.
I try too hard and I’m convinced you notice this.
9
You are nine months older than me.
In your eyes I am just a baby.
My cocoon of pictures of you is the womb
I am being baked in.
You won’t follow me back on twitter.
10
You are just my celebrity crush
But you have such an impact on me.
Go back home.
Let me rest.
Go back to bed.
I’ll have that dream again
And I won’t speak of it
And no one has to know of this
Pathetic excuse for love I carry in me like a dead fetus.
10
You are just my celebrity crush.
It was never supposed to go this far.
10
You are just my celebrity crush.
10
You can never love me
The same way I love you.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
You are addicted to your own sadness,
only speaking upon your hardships so you can feel something again.
you latch onto the pure ones in hope of being found,
but once you've been corrupted there's no turning around,
So be gentle with the innocent ones left,
for they can remind you of what life was before you wept.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
*pain knocks on weathered doors
fastened ever tightly
cryptic access is denied
it camouflages in the shadows
stealthily it watches
hypervigilance enhancing
catastrophe awaiting
it strikes in latent graveyards
the gale begins to form
and unleashes its fierce torrent
the latch shattered and torn
there’s now an open entrance
creeping in it slithers
engulfing to encompass
digging up emotions
buried underground there
hovering and foggy
tho’ murky does not smother
but fleshes out the psyche
entombed and cobweb covered
it crawls along the edges
and peers in secret ledges
seeps into sequesters
like dust settled in feathers
it slides through every feeling
and when it’s at its blackest
it carves the darkness out
and let’s in sunlight’s presence
© 2016janetaylor
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
"Love me," she whispers.
"Love me," louder as she grabs at them.
"Love me," she cries.
Again and again, night after night.
Hit after hit, high after high.
Tear after tear and guy after guy.
Never once satisfied.
Sitting home alone, she cries.
Easy to judge her.
"No one will love her."
Bitter words from hateful mouths.
Oh so needy, "please just love me"
All she cries as you lay her down.
No love for that girl.
Give her a quick whirl,
Then we pass her to the next.
She hates everyone, mad at the world.
Wanders around with her head so vex.
Hard to understand her,
Easy to demand her,
"Do this! Do that!"
As she will.
Everyone watches and waits for the time bomb, everyone wants to see her fail. She's something to look at and something to speak of, without her, where is the thrill?
But what people don't notice, what they don't realize, is that she's hurting behind the pills.
Those cries aren't pleasure, they are pain. She's looking for something that drives her insane.
Searching for love in such a wrong place and can't even see it when it's in her face. It's never a search, really more of a chase. You can tell she's the girl when she's in that place.
The cries aren't from passion.
They are from confusion, but she'll make you ignore it, call it illusion.
She is that girl that no man understands, the girl who is fragile and always in wrong hands. The needy girl always searching for love, hoping that someone is hearing above.
She's sick and twisted and at other times sane, she bottles her pain as she hears them say her name. Never good news, but it's part of the fame. We all know this girl will always hang her head in shame.
Everyone has baggage, but this girl's is quite a lot.
People open her bags up and run once they see what she's got.
But I know this girl when I give it some thought,
we treat her so nasty and do it a lot. We aren't helping her, because it's nobody's problem. Someone has something we want, then we rob them. You have got to latch on to what you want in this life, whether it is wrong, or if it is right.
Remember that girl, by the end of the night. She won't make a fuss, she won't try to fight. She'll just keep moaning "love me" But really, who cares? You can see when you touch her she's not really there.
This story is troubling and very much true, but this girl is me.
What if she was you?
kd
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
Across the Nation's Prize I say Hello
And Tradition's Tie breaks to meet my Friend
You decide to either say Yes or No
Whichever it is this is not the End
I'm sure glad you enjoyed your Meals to date
Both Horseradish and Wasabi do pair
Now this Hour's Best Time to roast a Steak
Such Great Leisure the Mad Chef can't declare
Now before you leave for Wimbledon's Match
Make sure your Bag is empty from your fill
Obey, and Stony Halites fail to latch
Then you enjoy the Kingdom's Biggest Thrill.
I know not much, with Time and Place obsessed
Least I can share which Merry Face is best.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
The outsider is inside,
Inside the house, staring from the crusted window,
The latch calls to her in rusty tones.
She stares upon its existence,
wishing nothing more than to answer.
But the outsider, she is inside,
Her back turned to what she’s built,
Her eyes upon those who are outside,
Can they save her? Would they care to try?
Her elbow rests upon the dusty sill,
Eyes glossy like Rapunzel, the Golden One,
But she has grown old inside the house,
she has grown blind and deaf and dumb.
The outsider, she once wished,
to leave the depths of her understanding,
to venture into the clashing world,
to face the blatant nature of love,
But the outsider, she is inside,
over much has cried, died and lied.
The weight of gravity holds down the fort,
and her as well; she doesn’t fight.
She holds the hope she’ll someday be tempted,
to leave that which protects her so,
to venture through the grimy view,
lifted by that which holds her low.
The outsider, she’s still inside,
Forever more, should she still hide,
You could say that she should have tried,
She wanted to, with all her pride
To leave that which keeps her inside.
To leave that which keeps her inside.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 3:02 AM UTC
I can name you
The exact date
On which he was shot:
June 28, 1914.
Who killed him?
Gavrilo Princip,
Member of the Bosnian Nationalist
Movement: The Black
Hand.
Suddenly this montage
Of bullet chambers
And dead wars
Shift -
Hands. You. Me.
Your fingers,
Which I long to hold.
Your voice,
Which I long to hear.
Which I have forgotten -
Sometimes it is hard
To trace the annals
Of history. Our
****** pawprints
Make the trail of
Arms and hatred
Harder to keep straight
Than sin and so
We walk backwards.
****** trail of footsteps
Perhaps stepped
Into
By a meandering
Mao, or ******
Or Tojo. Muddied further
By the presence
Of an Alger
Hiss -
Your voice
Is a whisper,
It sings to me in
Secrets - I do not
Know you but I
Am in love,
You are beautiful and
I don't know why
But there's a
War. In my heart.
A war of attrition. Subtraction
Of causes. And the Archduke,
Well the Archduke
Is glad to see you.
Hear his dates blur
Into yours -
History tests,
And love notes
Crumpled away folded
And stored
In the same junk
Folder.
I imagine his hands
To have folded
Quite slowly,
Searching for something
To latch onto.
Like mine.
Empty palms flickering
Amidst a trail of
Blood and dust -
Oh, and yeah
The history lessons
Of course.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
So winter closed its fist
And got it stuck in the pump.
The plunger froze up a lump
In its throat, ice founding itself
Upon iron. The handle
Paralysed at an angle.
Then the twisting of wheat straw
into ropes, lapping them tight
Round stem and snout, then a light
That sent the pump up in a flame
It cooled, we lifted her latch,
Her entrance was wet, and she came.
5.7k
Isn’t it
Wonderful,
The suffocating love of a hundred people
They want you, what’s best for you
What’s best for you, what is best for you?
Rejecting them means rejecting love,
but you are in short supply of you
As demand increases, so does price
the price of you
the price is you.
Sanity sets in, escape’s let out
every night let it out,
beats staying in
Some are in short supply of love
********
Not you
The suffocating love of a hundred people let you know
Across the room, across the country
a hundred people can’t help
shedding ‘bout one sixty does
only, you have to shed it
anchors only work when attached
love
it pulls your judgment, mind from its foundation
wants to make your choices
wants to make your coffee
you start to save you,
in a container with a seal
the shiny latch makes a pop noise
You can see through the otherside
No one can get in,
Not with the pop noise
Its where you keep you
in the house, Close the door
pressure mounts
let it out in
drops,
thoughts and blood
watch it heal, know you’re better
lets you know,
you are better, you are better
You are Better,
better isn’t with help, it doesn’t come with age
it’s a choice you make
the suffocating love of a hundred people
they pile on blankets, keeps you warm
but at a hundred blankets deep you aren’t moving
move.
Don’t think about me, don’t think about him
Just move and keep moving,
roots and anchors
Learn which is which
Remember which is which
Act on which is which
you grow roots, anchors are placed upon you
usually around the neck region.
Box up all the memories, store them if you like
But don’t stay attached, burn if necessary
Anchors only work if they’re attached
You can’t ‘be ready’ for something that’s already happened
It’s the past in those boxes,
the fond death of past nothings,
Life only exists in the future,
Not to be too dramatic but we’re dying, right now
in the present
we breath out life out as we speak
Only the future has life, stored as potential
just take the steps
cut out the cancer
if you want to be ready for something, be ready for what’s next
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 9:46 AM UTC
Sustenance for friends and clients;
state your case – come one, come all.
The matron arms of Social Service
will not let you fall.
Food stamps make our nation stronger,
licked, then stuck on the public roll.
Social programs last much longer
adding recipients on the dole…
Like the Ephesian Diana
many are my benefits!
Mine the matriarchal manna;
latch and suckle at my teats.
Yours the client’s right to nurture.
Mother will supply your need;
Child, you must not fear the future –
feed, my baby, feed.
Call me nanny, call me Lord
just make sure you’re calling on me.
Mine are the gifts you can afford
they’re taxpayer-funded, worry-free!
Once you are latched I’ll keep it flowing
like an intravenous habit.
Keep that ****** situated
where your will can never grab it
Let it never cross your mind
that there’s an end to all lactation.
Cloward-Piven have refined
this titillation.
Love me. Need me. I’m the State.
Your well-being is my affair.
With your consent I’ll dominate,
because I care.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Look back with longing eyes and know that I will follow,
Lift me up in your love as a light wind lifts a swallow,
Let our flight be far in sun or blowing rain—
But what if I heard my first love calling me again?
Hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam,
Take me far away to the hills that hide your home;
Peace shall thatch the roof and love shall latch the door—
But what if I heard my first love calling me once more?
5.2k
When cats run home and light is come,
And dew is cold upon the ground,
And the far-off stream is dumb,
And the whirring sail goes round,
And the whirring sail goes round,
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.
When merry milkmaids click the latch,
And rarely smells the new-mown hay,
And the **** hath sung beneath the thatch
Twice or thrice his roundelay,
Twice or thrice his roundelay;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.
5.1k
Brown-eyed girl
I draw them in with my eyes
Always such a surprise they
Cannot let me go I
Curse them so and they
Latch onto a substance that
Will let them be free what
They cannot understand is
It will always be me because
Once I have got you, you cannot forget
I’m a Russian roulette I’m a
Desirous bet I’m a game of poker
That you have already lost but
This game’s on the table
No matter the cost I’m your price
That you pay when you think you
Have won but when you tie off
To have me you’ll see you’ve done what's
Become quite the fight, a hopeless pursuit
For this trail of honey, I'm
Forbidden fruit.
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 9:28 PM UTC
I hate love songs.
It's just a sappy little tune of someone else's expectations.
I expect certain things for my life
But they'll never be what is written in a song
Love songs are like movies.
People write songs and movies about people living happily after ever.
Well that's completely false.
Because no one lives happily ever after.
We watch these movies and listen to these songs and build up our own expectations
Only to be let down when we realize that this is reality
We think "Oh I want a love like that."
When really, there's no such thing as true love.
Right?
I don't know.
That's kinda how I think of it.
Love songs ****
Because we latch onto what that person is saying, hoping we're gonna find that someday
But look at how hopeless we are
I'm so hopeless
I don't know what to think about love
There's so many degrees of love
Finding that true person who just happens to know everything about you
And likes it.
And you like all those things about them
But why?
Everybody's all like "love is such an amazing thing."
Like there's no faults in it
Like people don't cheat on each other
And people don't break up with each other for no reason
Like there's no back-stabbing
Like it doesn't ever fall apart because you have the glue to hold it together
But what's the point of love when there's so many faults that come with it
Let's face it
Everybody throws the word "love" around like it's a baseball
"I love you" "I love you too"
Bull.
Because then it ends and it's like "Oh but I thought you were in love?"
I wonder if love lasts forever.
I mean nothing lasts forever
I wonder if you can stay in love with the same person forever
I mean how's that possible?
Don't you get sick of looking at that person?
Don't you ever feel like being with someone else
I don't know. Maybe I'm saying this because I've never experienced love
With anyone special
Just meaningless relationships
From my youth that I knew would never last
Then what was the point of being with that person
Fun?
It ***** to have a hopeless crush that you know will never happen
But maybe it never happens because you DON'T believe
I don't know.
People should find that one person
Everybody has a God given right to find love
They need to find it the right way
People have one night stands with random strangers
How can you honestly make love to someone and feel something called "love" to someone you just met?
Like how?
You shouldn't give yourself to someone you don't know
In my opinion, you shouldn't give yourself to anyone unless you know you're gonna spend the rest of your life with that person
And I'm not just saying that because I'm a Christian
I wasn't planning on giving myself to anyone before I was married, before I found God
Sure, that's a part of it
Because *** before marriage is a sin
But I didn't have an expectation of having *** with anyone before I was married
And the only way to know if you'll spend, "forever", "eternity"
With that person is not when you put the engagement ring on
But the wedding ring
Because an engagement ring means nothing
It's just an announcement that you're planning on a future
It's nothing set in stone
People might say, "Yeah but you can always get divorced."
When I get married, that's not an option.
Because why would I throw something away that I know can hopefully be fixed?
People might say, "How can I not have *** in this relationship?"
It's easy.
Don't.
Love is so fake.
And yet, so real.
I have love songs
But listen to them all the time because I build up that expectation
But let's face it
We don't always get the fairytale we want
I hate love songs for one reason
You expect so much in your future
You're waiting for that prince to come save you
But come on.
That's fake.
I hate love songs.
I hate love movies.
I hate love.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
An Evil Pumpkin Witch reigning over the pumpkin patch
Planning something sinister not being Pumpkinville’s match
But here is the catch
The Pumpkin Head Witch was vanished centuries ago from the Pumpkin patch
Through our journeys on hills and our thinking on still
Pumpkinville’s town folks decreed a curse
Somehow from the latch the Pumpkin Head Witch was freed in reverse
Now the witch is determined to get her revenge
Darkness casts over Pumpkinville as doom with an end
Danger in the air raging from multitude pumpkin heads
It was a showering effect like a stead
Warriors being the pumpkin heads
The Pumpkin Head Witch’s spell
The citizens in commotion could sense in tell
A sigh at the moment of Oh well
But Pumpkinville had a plan of their own
However the citizens can’t say as it is a spell and they don’t want it to be known
The Evil Pumpkin Witch is having a time in her stride
The hour is now, but there is no sign for abide
Yet the town of Pumpkinville all run for some place to hide
But for the record in Pumpkinville’s book
All it takes is just one look
Pumpkinville’s wish in their own spell
Only seconds remaining that will tell
The wizardry of evil that might sell
The skies remain black and for Pumpkinville to just stand back
Lightening verses the foe, but fate will determine the outcome of the flow.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
She loosens on tiptoe
the latch of her window,
slides upward the sash
and the shine of the moon
pours over the sill,
like it's rushing downhill
like a silver stream,
flooding her room.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 1:31 AM UTC
Elizabeth and God exist in a sunflower grave. Her mother and father slit her stomach open and watched the contents pour out like
spaghetti confetti.
Tommy, Elizabeth's boyfriend, rode his ocean blue Huffy, until the tread on his tires grew bald and until the grips were blanketed by dead skin. Looking for her, panoramic views of the horizon leapt beside him. Silhouettes of his legs, churned and kissed the orange and caramel dusk. With every tear in his hamstrings and calves, the **** in his sky grew and swallowed the memory of Elizabeth Mendenhall, Honor Student.
Margot, Elizabeth's twelve year-old sister, was an idealistic soul. Taking a Sharpie, she wrote on her sister's wall, "Liz, there is no death greater than the loss of self, and no life greater than one where we continuously search for what self is." Margot struggled with concentrating and frying eggs - but focused on the sunflower garden, dangerously and perfectly.
Hilary and Brendan were thirty-five and thirty-six years-old. They stabbed their daughter thirty-seven times. They don't know why they did it, they just couldn't think of a reason not to do it.
She begged for her life. The yellow petals of the sunflowers caught blood-drops and, after enough struggle, floated down to kiss and lay on Elizabeth's slow-twitch body. Hilary looked at Brendan and said, "What does this mean?" Brendan shrugged and said, "This is new to me."
The garden was an oven, and digging her grave was like pulling back on a cheap, plastic latch. Elizabeth had pale, pre-cooked pie crust skin. The slits in her stomach looked like peeks into a cherry stuffed filling. Crinkled lips looked indented by a stainless steel fork, back and forth, side to side. And the soil rained upon her like the reversal of hot vapor, returning home.
Elizabeth and the Sunflower Garden.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
tears fall
your name i call
gone
frozen in time
wasting away life
heartbroken.
outright cry
strikes at night
lost.
always lost
confused.
anxious.
scared.
lies.
knife
acts like
gasoline , poured on me
cast a match
flip the latch
to the prison cell of lost hearts
murmur my name
before i slain
the wretched beast
whisper into
the dead alleyways
a revival unavoidable
n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ l̶o̶s̶t̶.
c̶o̶n̶f̶u̶s̶e̶d̶
a̶n̶x̶i̶o̶u̶s̶.
s̶c̶a̶r̶e̶d̶.
more deceit.
cold like a
untouched angel
away from the worst danger
i am born again.
purged.
regenerated.
strengthened.
renewed.
rebirth.
(b.d.s.)
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
How I adore your nerve
when you kissed me in your closet upon sheets made of legos
and all of your childhood dreams.
How easy I am for you to draw when you play on stage the song that you wrote me,
The one that feels like rock climbing by the river,
Like naps in the summer when I drool on your chest and you don't mind,
Like kissing you until the very last minute of my curfew,
only to break it for the miracle that is your lips.
How alluring is your breath on my neck,
Your voice in my ear when you told me that you loved me
and you didn't stop smiling,
even as the years went by and I did.
How I craved, longed, begged for time to be still
the time you took me to the highest hill you could drive to,
You called it my mountain.
"At first, you look at it and it's so small,
but once you notice it, it's all you can see," you said.
How my stomach floods with waves of nostalgia and a taste
of everything I've ever had to live without,
With complete and utter spell-binded devotion at the simple familiarity
of your smell.
How addicted I am to your laugh when you're happy and
the mastered impression you do of your mom.
How weak I am to your intellect and your appreciation of literature
and real music,
Your enthusiasm for art and the "name that note" game you force upon me
as you stumble onto the classical radio station.
How in love I am with your romance that is as childish as my attachment
to my baby blankie and my mother's childhood walrus that you never ceased to insult.
Our pajama day that we decided over our prom,
When we turned on John Mayer and slow danced in your room.
Your idea of a date consisted of fake wine and me.
How incredibly warm are the coldest of nights,
On the side of your dirt road as we lie in the snow that is too cold for comfort,
yet holds us there with the fear that one day will not look the same as this one
and I would bear any amount of cold winter to keep one more moment of yours.
How I cherish the way you latch my pinky with yours when we walk
And the face you don't know you make when you play guitar.
The rooftop where you kissed me for the very first time and the string rings
we wore to remind each other we were still there.
How incredibly and unfortunately devout I am to all that I remember of you.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
Wind blows its way right through my senses
All my thoughts have but slowly disappeared
One more large smoky glass of cheap whisky
One more sad lonely night that you're not here.
Loneliness set in as the door quickly closed
Using the back door now and keeping that one shut
It will stay like that until ever you come back
But I've a notion now that it will stay put.
Old sore wounds that somehow resurfaced
Caused a bitter rift long forgotten to return
And the memories and the tears from the last time
Hit the heart, exploded and then burned.
So I sit trying to write and supping whisky
As I wait to hear your key in the front door
I hope with all my heart that you'll forgive me
I can't bear to be alone here any more.
The wind is getting stronger now and I thought I heard the latch
But it was just some fighting creatures out in the dark
So I'll wait as I do each night with my whisky and my pen
Sitting here and waking up with the sound of the lark.
©Joe Wilson - Whisky and my pen 2014
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC