Without You, I could have never walked among the low clouds, perfectly white in hue and shade the street looks like an unfinished painting, perhaps an epiphany just waiting for a passerby to see certain events through a prism of new light in the story dear wounded, worn and wanting I am conscious of dampness that comes before the rain, of chasms where darker demons dwell in the mind and now the threads of longing in a chapter waiting to be read are starting to unwind.
There is tranquility in the hours of early morning, with birds bringing sweet high notes, there are many who had come to pry me open there are many who had come searching for answers that were never present, as though attempting to clench water into their hands they promised me that their words were forged in steel I suppose they never realized you can’t delude light with the threat of darkness the world as I know is comprised of shadows and wild patch of woods that beg to be explored, you can either step in holding hands with courage or forever be knocked back by the brutal winds of confusion.
The city has put in new blooms, with flashes of amber and rouge pink before me the future behind me the past, I wonder if He can listen to my heart pounding amidst chaos and din for it’s an odd and bewildering thing to feel that you don’t belong to any place and person on earth, I am determined not to let worries lead me astray from the path they often come with intentions seemingly untainted and kind.
I am conviction, I am fire, around increasing twilight I am an open book
of prayer dear wounded, worn and wanting I am conscious of breath coming in episode let your ruffled souls rise from the ashes and though dark your dreams remember that dawn is never too far behind I move on forward without flinching through the sweltering heat of summer my faith akin to law engraved in a fledgling heart, why do you forget that in order to fly we must first forget the ground? Without You I could have never walked among the low clouds, perfectly white in hue and shade.
One glossy stretch of bougainvillea pink perched, stately, atop the balustrade so beautiful in its glory that I silently wept, I wish to instill twilight song in the passageway of your mind where sorrow lives, offer the reflection of cloud in a mid-June lake in disbelief I observed the wind which seems to want nothing more than to wipe your tears, I wish to become lost in low hum of traffic, in surrounding trees and gusting chorus.
Towering between your brooding silence and my attempt at conversation is the sky, as thunder echoes across the urban landscape love, I am unafraid though scent of bougainvillea would be washed away I’d rather focus upon the darkest flecks of your eyes in them I witness the mountains where time comes to a halt, where nature needs not apology and memory’s free from clamor of sin I could drink in their hue all night and day.
Do branches express their joy through violent rustling? Is desire akin to fragrance of coppice and berry trees wafting in the wind? One step into the dappled sunshine, and you will know just how important it is to think with your heart sometimes I am struck again and again by euphoria of children tugging upon their mother’s sleeve,
for purpose of harvesting tomatoes and dark-sweet cherries, perhaps
it was destiny that led me to indulge in mirth and laughter.
I wish to instill hope in the passageway of your mind where sorrow lives, offer the world in exchange for dimples in your chin, it’s true that two people close to each other don’t always share
the same perspective, you are coconut white whereas I am ebony black I wish to embrace deserted streets, empty foyer and words faded into wilting
yesterday (though I admit I had yet a lot to say) One glossy stretch of bougainvillea pink perched, stately, atop the balustrade so beautiful in its glory that I silently wept.
Among small wet pebbles that outline the fury of sun, there lie fragments of one thousand and one sea glass their once glossy surface flat and dark with some having tell-tale signs of blood, I unsheathe myself and embrace vulnerability, as eyes, filled with shadows, thumb through me like a manuscript my heart a broken paragraph where despotism is tried and embedded into the skin, a series of violet tears spread promising that a day will come when we will cross the bridge, fall hard or breathe harder it’s so simple when you put it like that, unaware that silence is all that’s left in the end, we cannot unlearn
the fresh taste of trepidation nor forget words that were whispered into the ear, but rise get up from lying because a bridge is unbiased, it has no preference whatsoever you have created this burning need for insurgence to prevail in society, touching me is the wind as feeling sets fire into my throat you took me unwillingly now watch as the sky rewrites our tale and hits just the right note of equity.
There is no prerogative in the realm of human affairs nor breath of air that isn’t tinged with sadness, a faultless poem if such were ever to be composed would speak of love as heaven sent and the moon as epitome of understanding in a plum delia sky, why is the rosella its own worst enemy? Why does recognition only appear around stretch of dawning? At this time of the year I would usually break down as dust settles upon relics of a bygone age but there’s something about the way your words touched me as honeysuckles bloom into summer crossings, I am thinking of you of what it would be like hearing you read my work out loud as hours lead us slowly away from June.
The hills that lie congenial by day like confidants of land are darkly ominous by night, here in a world where there is nothing but chaos they say I looked back out of impetuosity, in search of an untouched canvass upon which to leave a mark, I am struck by beauty that’s unapologetically herself the flirty fuchsia of roses that define life in endless lines of thoughts
and expression which my poems only tease. Why does darkness approach from outside? Why is the colour grey doused in both despair and light? If I can spot a serpent glide out from a maculate shade, can I convince him
not to become the devil’s advocate? Let us go to the other side now that you know my face by heart and indulgence as adversary at the crack of dawn.