"reverberate" poems
Seductive wayward hands
Like silk, soft to the touch
Travel down her lustrous skin
Southbound too their destination
Lips, neck combine in passion
Warm breath on the neck
Turns into sultry slow kisses
She grips his hair tightly
Her soft moans reverberate in his ear
As his fingers glisten with her lust
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:24 AM UTC
*Blue clouds gaze the wrapped sun
frozen kisses in my blood
travelling a thousand miles
to meet up with you.
There is none else walking
down this path where memories
wake up and dance
inside my armored heart.
I peeled off each kisses embrace
out of my parched lips.
I shook off the tree,
where your scent had blossomed.*
***Every step down this scarcely trodden path saw...
Each peel fall with helpless, damsel-like grace.
Brown leaves shone amber touched by fingers of the sun
Invasion of warmth through my greyed bony carapace.
Gentle tremors reverberate within with subtle anguish.
Sweet scented portal that took me back,
To the illusion of time where we once were...
In drunken stupor...laying under a star strewn canvas of black.
Senses that spoke of a great fantastical tale.
You are still here... In this cloying void with no one around...
Only that scent...your scent tugging on my core
Invisible tendrils berthing my feet back on ground.***
*Alone and wanting don't want to be anymore.
I want to feast my lungs on your skin once more.
I want to vibrate under your touch again,
In anguished anticipation and sweet pain.
I hurl your name to the echoing wind,
Blowing ferociously over the closed passage.
Only to find that I'm but elongating
the distance between our fading wishful stars.*
***Fading far only to find that I'm lost yet again,
Still harvesting a basket full of ripened hope.
Traversing planes with warped, slanted doorways,
Frantically seeking purchase on knobs with fevered gropes.
Heavy layered breaths inhaled too shallow...
Tracing missteps to decipher what it all meant.
When all is moot...weary, weathered and futile,
Forever I'll be bathing in the familiarity of your soothing, nectarous scent...***
Dajena M
ryn
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
When first shower of monsoon
Touched the emotions
Of my innocent heart
Its strings began to ring
Drops of rain began to open
The windows of my heart
And with its tender touch
Heart began to pour out
Pearls of positive thoughts
Now everything seemed positive
Seeds of inspiration
Sowed by a rain shower in my heart
Began to reverberate
Everything now appeared inspirational
Seedlings of love and compassion
Began to germinate and
Fresh winds of peace and humanity
Started blowing in my heart
Monsoon shower roused
A new hope to live and
Left a lasting legacy
Every corner of my heart
Heart bells started ringing exaltation
And raising wave of happiness
Monsoon shower taught the heart
A new art of living
Darkness changed in brightness
The heart began to rejuvenate
The monsoon shower infused
A new life with peace and prosperity
And kindled the lamps off
Bright and prosper tomorrow
(Written by Kishan Negi)
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
I give love
love love
with the one look
of my eye
eye eye
I excite your lament ion
charge it
high up high
uuuuu
potentially ready
a ***** cation
I am your aesthetic
flaming electric
activate your kinetic
stop the resistence now
don’t drop voltage
difference I create is continually asymptotic
I am the variation in your magnetic
I am the field of your *** ethic
if you not behave
I become your inelastic scatter
geomagnetic storm
high potential
chemical desire
mechanical fire
radioactive disaster
through your interior
I roar blast break
silence the rocks
shake the lights
reverberate in your head
I give love
love love
with the one look
of my eye eye eye
I excite your lament ion
I am your voltaic lion
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
*he is screaming but no one can hear him
she is singing but no one listens
he is lost but no one is looking for him
she is searching and finds that she is alone*
words go unanswered
no matter what is said
they fall upon deaf ears
and reverberate into deep unknown places
an orchestra in the ocean
performed in a foreign frequency
a song lost in translation
heard by many
but meaningful to none
*he is asking but no one answers
she is begging but no one gives
he is following but no one leads
she is leading but no one will follow*
uniqueness is your downfall
strength lies in being the same
in possessing
the inherited dialect of survival
that cannot be achieved
it is a birth right
as natural as your name
but instead
of deserved solace
you received the gift
of 52 hertz of loneliness
*he is calling but receives no answers
she is crying but finds no comfort
he is sinking but no one knows
she is dying and no one cares*
doomed to drift
through bottomless, indigo twilight
being carried on the waves
of your own erie lament
the sound of your sadness
is the cause of your isolation
your desperate song
remains your only hope
and it will never cease
someone, someday
will hear you
and answer
your heart wrenching pleas
someone, someday
singing love songs in the deep
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
Standing on the hillside is a rustic yellow cottage,
Rusty yellow staining from the steel dust of the trains.
Passing, rushing carriages that crisscross by the hour,
The ten o clock from Frankston meets the City train detained.
Golden light of sunrise in the calm of early morning
Golden light reflected on the rusty cottage roof,
Puffing at his briar and sitting at the doorstep
Old Grandpa drinks the peacefulness whilst stroking cat aloof.
Bacon smells a-beckoning from coal range fires a-glowering
Delicious tang of coffee from my Granma’s breakfast fare,
The clattering of silver wheels as silver rails reverberate
Sings the music of the morning with not a trace of care.
Memories from yesteryear I treasure on reflection,
Memories, a little boy, recalled from times secure.
Memories of cuddles in the ***** of my Grandma
And the scent of plum tobacco giving Grandpa’s pipe allure.
Perhaps a trick of memory, perhaps my passing fancy
But I clearly recall a sign above the kitchen door,
A simple sign of welcome with a sense of real belonging
In the gentle name of “Sunrise” to warm the heart galore.
Marshalg
In memory of my dear Nan and Pop Cummings @ Mordialloc by the bay.
23 April 2013
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
Just Let It In
this
language,
the perplexity
of this language,
is damaging to me.
how can there possibly
exist such an impeccably
imposing combination of
words that still manage to destroy
a soul as wasted as mine? somehow
words discover these fine little cracks in
my wall, as thin as the head of a pin. words
are like water, rushing into whatever space they
can invade, occupying whatever volume they discover.
this water trickles through the fragmented spaces, traveling
all the way to my heart, transforming me in the way they seem to
alter us all. it is these words that i take with me. words reverberate in my mind,
disrupt me to my core, degrade me. your words are the ones i perpetually carry with me...
any...all of them. yours are the ones that elicit the simultaneous firing of every
single neuron in my brain. there is something about the magic of your words
flowing together...whispered into my ear. they move through me like
a stealthy, lone snake, undulating in a field, stalking its defenseless
prey; slowly...at first glance, not appearing to be a perilous threat
...then piercing me all at once with fierce strength and
determination, devouring me without appearing to
acknowledge that maybe i still...still want to be.
to be whole. and i do. my body craves
the sensation of being complete,
not torn apart by the nonsense
of your daunting words
disrupting my spirit
and making me
despise the
necessity
of language.
i wish i could
void your words
from my brain, but
my mind is helplessly
inconsistent; i can never
forget what i long to,
scarcely remember
what i must; and
my peculiar mind
*
certainly* will never
forget the sound
of your words,
just like water,
flooding me.
taking me
over.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 2:44 AM UTC
She says she doesn’t have the strength within herself to write poetry.
Yes, her. The one who so often nourished me with song
til my soul began to learn how to hunt for itself,
whose word carried weight in leading me to pick my own instrument,
albeit one of a different tone,
as the key in keyboard became prominent for the first time
and the sound of purposeful fingers upon it could be considered,
only in the right light,
synonymous to the plucking of strings, just as rooted in emotion.
Yet she's the first to say that she herself can't do it.
Thing is, I suppose we’re politely at odds on the matter.
She favors poetry that’s sharper, with a cleaner cut,
that’s message is immediate and jarring
as a conduit running from soul through skin,
or a loose-lipped diary finally freed from lock and key.
And when she declared it, I started to consider what my poems seem to me:
Blackberry bushes (but kinder, I hope)
that snag and immerse just long enough
to make me feel I’ve had an effect.
I’ve used writing to expel my most gnarled feelings
to any passerby who’s maybe felt the same.
Like crying in a mirror:
alarming, but oddly refreshing,
and an indefinite reminder that our aches are never only our own.
Still, I'm not sure why it blows my mind
to hear that even the most glamorous hearts,
who wear confidence as a summer breeze that's always in their favor
and who inspire, from beau gestures to sleight of hand,
are included in those who find themselves pacing back, back and forth,
begging curbside at the dime store
for a scrap of the same feed that convinces a heart to pump ink.
But she says that any art that's enjoyed is worth it.
So while she seeks out words that bare the bones,
I’ll stay and make a meal of the marrow,
hollowing them so that the poetry may have a rightful place
to reverberate as hymns in a universal monastery.
But hell, like I’m any old soul.
I dress nicer than I otherwise would,
turn to the mother who told me I don’t meet her lowest standards,
and ask for a critique.
All for the moment when she greets me at the door with a legendary G#.
...Now please, could you spare a dime?
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
I seethe within what echoes disdain for all things wanting, because I can't seem to keep what's there to begin with
The desire to purge prior prose and start from scratch beseeches my mind to scrawl what dire nuance calls my name, but I don't look it in the eyes
It's my demon; my voice that resonates deep within; the call of all things mired by fate-less whispers of what's more, or right
But I know, it can't be how I desire. What can be will only come when time sets right the means to seek it out; to reach for whatever may be reaching back at me
I can't move forward unless I know for certain what's there would not bring more desolation. I am a coward, but am I human? I ask myself that every waking moment
I crave nothing more than to be normalized and reverberate with twining string of fate that actually calls my name, not the sour tones of dissonance and disdain as before
I crave reality to be my own, rather than reality to own everything I can not
I seek, eternally.. I find nothing but light that touches the surface, but never does the sun actually rise.
Bring me to my own horizon, bring me fate, bring me peace..
I hope..
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 3:48 AM UTC
Trash can, wastebasket;
the place we throw it all away.
Used tissues--soggy mascara, dried *****
or the babies that would never be,
and the heaps of food waste, human waste.
Wasted human.
Why do we take ourselves and the people we used to love,
toss people and our person deep within a hole of shame,
darkness, misery, guilt, worry, frustration, fear?
If someone only said to you, or to me, when we dig deep
into the ground and find the place no one will find us
or them, the people we are burying--
if they only said,
"You are not trash."
Our emotions refuse to become refuse, the remains of
being unwanted, as we perceive ourselves to be.
But we is just me, and even though I can't hear the voice
I long to hear above my own, the sounds reverberate in my chest,
next to my heart, where I heard them last.
The last time we spoke your fingers did not reach for mine.
Your jeans did not rip in the same one spot.
The dog that I picked that you picked after you went back,
his tail wagging all the way on the ride back to his new home,
did not kiss my face and my eyes and ears like he loves to do.
Even though you didn't still love me, you did before,
now thrown hastily, yet decidedly in the trash can outside your door.
I dropped off the last remnant of your physical being,
an old rabbit-eared antennae.
I didn't, couldn't look in your trash can,
or stand in the driveway longer than was needed to drop and run
the hell away from crumbling gravel, a window newly aluminum foiled, and the motorcycle kept under surveillance at all times.
I hope he looked on his camera screen and saw walking,
talking, feeling, breathing human trash gliding
down the sidewalk, feet pattering into a jog.
The grass licked my feet and tangled in my toes on the way
to the one place my sighs could sink lower than my feet,
deep into the warm upholstery of my car seat, the grandma car,
the dented, imperfect, but mostly reliable car
away, far away, to a place where someone would look curiously,
pick up the trash, my trash, me, and say,
"It's beautiful."
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 12:04 AM UTC
The saga in her eyes converts into a
Constant downpour soon after
She realizes her freedom from the spell of the dark witch,
The curse had turned her a prisoner in the evil witch's body.
What land – what sea – what wind...
All my life now seems her story.
"Kind sailor thank thee for freeing me."
Her words reverberate throughout,
What wind - what land - what sea,
Everywhere is her presence as I can see,
The wind whispers her name in my ear,
Since a long long time now all I wear,
Is her scent in my immortalized memory.
***"Will you stay with me forever, or,
Will you go back to the heavens?"***
Though I really wanted her to stay,
I love her and realize what she felt,
I offered her freedom and a choice,
I was not binding her to me in turn,
Everything was instinctive from me.
She seemed in a serious dilemma,
Struggling hard she was in herself,
I again offered & insisted this time,
"It's better to go back to your world,"
But I knew that she loved me a lot,
She tried hard controlling but said,
"I am in love with you since long."
So I am quite right that she loves me,
I am sure even she can forget me not,
Beading all our memories together,
I now know how I can gain salvation,
Not being another self-centric tantric,
***"But you don't belong here, dear,
You shouldn't torture yourself for a mortal."***
After this, she now looks comfortable & composed,
Ready for making a choice she wore a heart of stone,
Her lips slowly parted revealing a perfect smile,
Pearly smile again ensured me of permanent happiness,
Bright eyes and shiny eyelids of hers seemed so good,
***"You can't make me stay away because you love me too,
I will keep coming in your dreams and entice your nights."***
But I wanted her in my real-world now,
I prevented her from vanishing again,
I said, ***"Please stay, now do not go away,
Because I really can not bear that pain,"***
She had almost vanished by then,
Listening to my words she chose to wait,
She said, "Even I want forever to stay."
Continuing with her divine dialogue she said,
"Say those golden words to make me stay,"
I immediately confessed, "I love you, Angel,"
"Say you love me too, oh my divine Angel,"
She didn't wait for anything more to say it,
"I love you too, oh my kind & loving sailor,"
Her powers soon left her in a flash of light.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC
There's a tree over there
that waits for its dreamer.
*I have survived many.
And lost much
but to tell all would encumber several human spans
because
I have lived and longed.
I have learned and yearned.
I have waited.
At the train station, where existence can only be fulfilled
via a spiritual connection.
Bounded by roots that twist and secure
Soon to be bonded with thoughts
Floating through the sky, riding the air waves, see-through till caught
in a spider's web, or something like it.
And imaginary gets real.
Take in the matter
Scrub the void with scrounged emotions and colors
Pour in materials of lint and string.
Mediums with no particular conductance,
but taught it tight
and strum till the vibrations reverberate
and bring your idea to life in my wings
Because you are my dreamer.
And I am your catcher.
Hung on a wooden peg,
in your study.
Waiting for the day you
pick me up
and all your dreams tumble out and
materialize
and you realize* who you are.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
The heart of the shade,
The snivelling, fading essence that I would love.
My insides gradually become cavernous
A warped ringing fills me, like a cracked bell.
I hear the chants of brushing skin
But I am so silent.
Allowing their bodies to reverberate aloud,
Soundlessly,
Endlessly.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
I want to be your guitar
Run your fingers over my fret board
Pluck my strings and give me my melodious avatar
Sing to me and play that major chord
I’m feeling your song through and through
You don’t need a plectrum, you’re a born original
Work your rhythm baby, let’s get on the groove
Your fingers are enough to create our music wholly attritional
I will reward you myself for how you release my tension
I will resonate our love song through longevity
You’re a prodigal performer, I can feel you in tune with locomotion
We will move from verse to chorus under no shadow of ambiguity
I want to be your guitar
Let my moans reverberate off your walls
A finer touch for our creativity – a sitar
Let’s Indioul our way through these musical waterfalls
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
Chaos has a method of random
And the mind is a whirlpool
Thoughts gyrating to cacophony
The mind and heart are asynchronous
****** in to the vortex of indecision
Chaos becomes the typical jargon
For a mind that reverberate randomness
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
It's strange to feel displaced so quickly.
I thought I'd have more time than this.
More time until
"You have a life and I'm not in it."
Would reverberate through my bones
Like the shockwaves that shoot up your knees when you jump from somewhere high.
It hurts.
It's disorienting.
I can't tell if I am annoying you by missing you,
Because I don't get the chance to hear it clearly in your words.
All of a sudden,
There aren't any
For me.
I want to say "I'm sorry."
And be forgiven like I made a mistake or said something wrong.
But I didn't.
I couldn't have,
Could I?
Just last week you told me a secret nobody else knows,
Shared the intimacy of love and trust
With me.
And now again I don't know where I stand,
Can't see my own feet in the haze.
Am I on solid ground,
Concealed but steady,
Silent but firm?
Or am I on a crumbling cliff face,
One breath from tumbling
With loose stones and tree roots
To tear my skin on the way down?
Am I losing you
Or are you just busy?
Are you cross with me
Or do you just not have the time to be gentle?
I don't want to care.
I don't want to need you.
Because this happens from time to time,
You see?
It happens.
You feel like trying to hold the waves in my hands.
Trying to find purchase with my fingers in the morning mist.
I can never be sure you won't slip away
With no warning and no reason.
And so when for a day you are departed
I grieve,
And fear,
And worry,
And suffer.
And I hate that about myself.
So much that I think you must too.
But maybe I just need to have a reason in my head
That you were here, and warm, and tender
Yesterday
And aren't today.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
The roses of Love glad the garden of life,
Though nurtur’d ’mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,
Or prunes them for ever, in Love’s last adieu!
In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart,
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
The chance of an hour may command us to part,
Or Death disunite us, in Love’s last adieu!
Still Hope, breathing peace, through the grief-swollen breast,
Will whisper, “Our meeting we yet may renew:”
With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow’s represt,
Nor taste we the poison, of Love’s last adieu!
Oh! mark you yon pair, in the sunshine of youth,
Love twin’d round their childhood his flow’rs as they grew;
They flourish awhile, in the season of truth,
Till chill’d by the winter of Love’s last adieu!
Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way,
Down a cheek which outrivals thy ***** in hue?
Yet why do I ask?—to distraction a prey,
Thy reason has perish’d, with Love’s last adieu!
Oh! who is yon Misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew:
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate Love’s last adieu!
Now Hate rules a heart which in Love’s easy chains,
Once Passion’s tumultuous blandishments knew;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins,
He ponders, in frenzy, on Love’s last adieu!
How he envies the wretch, with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of Love’s last adieu!
Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o’ercast;
No more, with Love’s former devotion, we sue:
He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast;
The shroud of affection is Love’s last adieu!
In this life of probation, for rapture divine,
Astrea declares that some penance is due;
From him, who has worshipp’d at Love’s gentle shrine,
The atonement is ample, in Love’s last adieu!
Who kneels to the God, on his altar of light
Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:
His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight,
His cypress, the garland of Love’s last adieu!
3.7k
music becomes mucus, leftover remnants
of bacterial infections that refuse to vacate
my brain no matter how many decongestants
i consume, those sound waves reverberate back
and forth and back and forth within my thick
*** skull and i am driven mad by memories
how to cut tender wires intricately woven into
the most simple mass of a mess you will ever see
i find myself muttering solutions in my sleep and
when i reach conclusions i'm already half awake
pen in hand, paper on chest, but ahh, it's gone, it's gone
my dream world holds more clarity than my walking
daze and i can only find the words for poetry, my
tongue and throat are revolting, refusing to take part
in walks down memory lane, fingers soon to follow suit
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 9:27 PM UTC
I am radioactive,
everyone close,
gets hurt, or dies.
I am radioactive,
my confidence is decaying,
and my spirit is dead.
I am radioactive,
my emotions are on a rampage,
and my love has fled.
I am radioactive,
every aspect of my life,
turns into a battle field.
and I, I am radioactive,
I explode,
leaving no trace of life,
or love left.
I am radioactive,
every breath I take,
is taken from someone else.
I am radioactive,
the waves of my danger,
reverberate through people's souls.
Because I am radioactive.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
noun.
hot-rod red, boiling—veins snake, denim—skin throbs.
my eyelids are pounding.
dozens of sparrows, pushing at pale canvas.
thunder gasps at the
caverns
of my lungs.
lightning
at the fuse.
noun.
an Edgar warning;
thumping at wooden chest,
racing.
it just echos.
i am not your dictionary.
i am not your dictionary.
reverberate.
reverberate.
reverberate.
hollowly, it
hymns.
muffled by fire-truck cloth
and sun-starved cotton.
noun.
blue trees dance to the
rhythm,
singing up at skylight eyes.
reverberate.
breathe.
reverberate.
repeat.
noun.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 2:08 AM UTC
The dead see darkness only
"Darkness"
Decomposing teeth taste stale air
Acrid,
Rotten,
Pungent
Odours of parts decayed
The dead never die
They are inanimate, like a ornament
Still,
Frozen,
Angelic
Peace forever frozen on their face
They sleep on a bed of maggots
Digesting them over time,
The screams never heard
But they reverberate through
Oak,
Earth,
Grass
Above saturated with their terror
Slowly dies,
The eyes closed shut,
Darkness is the keep sake,
That hides the horror in there still formed
eyes, but everything decays over time
Flesh,
Muscle,
Brain
Turns to dust, that which was there,
Still lives on in a vacant skull
The horror lives on energy
Of life, trapped in
A void,
A prison,
With no bars, never to be free
The dead don't die, the torture in death lives on inside..
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
Such a sad sad tale of woe,
the story of the wood nymph Echo.
Cast aside with never a care,
her sobs reverberate through the air.
Warning the forest of her sorrow,
no fanfares did she need to borrow,
far and farther her tears did go,
fading and fading, just like Echo.
© Pagan Paul 25/07/16
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
Bugle call in cadence be
spread your deep sincerity
Reverberate its call
within our minds
of good deeds done
for better times
Heroes of every walk of life
remembered by bugle sounds
into vesper night
It's sounding love of mankind
and sacrifice
About everyday people
like you and me
About brass sounds that triumph liberty
It's sounding our land, not laid bare,
by the right to speak
It's sounding about lives laid down
that freedoms seek
And through that bugle call we see
in taps that sound great dignity
We must fight
not to relinquish
our hard earned truth
in bugle calls of our youth
Now i lay my bugle
down to sleep
And still i hear that
sound
that haunting sound
forever be
that ushers forth
our dignity
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
you are the reason and I am the cause
together existing as a single tangible flaw
staring down fate with our hearts entwined
a bitter feud of passionate irrationality showing all the signs
adorned with a conscious need to seek more with time
no time left, the clock strikes midnight
and we go, we go; we keep going on
bringing our hands closer to what we want
pushing through unto dawn with this plight
solidarity benefits the purpose of why
separating all the words between meanings aligned
defining reason alone with blank canvas minds
ready and willing to satiate this place in space and time
decimating indecision with open eyes
combined efforts sought through curiosity
the blank pages wired down with what we know
but what we want has forsaken us without a means to write it all down
carried away with doubt and fear of being burned from the bright sun
still whispering lullabies that help us both stay in the fight
this helpless inspiration is determined by the stronger voice
I wont rest until I reverberate every breath of ours by choice
solemn hours of sleepless nights breaking the lines
between life and love and a scarred heart desperate to redefine
shores lie dormant, ready to drown us under its persistence
every provocation and implication suffers from empty lies
deceiving ourselves, trying to forget the lifetime of pain
deliverance lost in the darkness, seeking to make things right
and I just want to be the one to show you the light
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
There's something special about falling for a boy who's leaving.
By knowing he'll be gone,
You'll take your time to memorize the shape of his face and the way it changes with his mood.
You'll study his sleeping body as he rolls away and then back into you,
And you'll look at his bare chest in a way that you didn't get the chance to before.
You'll feel every inch of his body against you and you'll dream of his lips lingering on yours.
By knowing that he is going to be thousands of miles away,
You'll be able to laugh with him as you tell him all the things he has to do for you,
Like trying an authentic Italian cannoli and describing the taste of every sip of wine he'll take.
You have the chance to let his voice reverberate within you,
And you'll hear him laugh from his stomach and love every second of it.
By falling for a boy who's leaving, you get to experience little things that wouldn't go noticed otherwise.
You'll get to see how his eyes change when he tells you about his family,
And you'll watch how his entire body softens when he talks about how loved he is,
Even though he doesn't necessarily see it.
You'll find that writing poems about him is easier than writing about the boys you've known your entire life,
And it's probably because you didn't have all that time to learn about him.
Falling for a boy who's leaving is special because it'll make you realize all the things that you didn't think were important before.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 12:08 PM UTC