I mirrored you subconsciously, perhaps you noticed you in me. You mirrored me subconsciously, perhaps I noticed, but didn’t see. Neither mirror could reveal beyond the veil, our hesitancy. Neither mirror would let us read of love, of fate, of … Continue reading Mirrored. A poem.
Is there any such thing as a happy ending? Maybe only in books and history told by the winner, but not for me and you, we lonely sinners. I find I no longer believe in fairy tales or story book … Continue reading Happy Endings. A poem.
What would I do if you belonged to another? No hanging tree exists that could free my heart from your beloved tether. Would I drown myself in the incumbent surf, or throw myself from the weary heights, dash all my … Continue reading The Truth. A poem.
Poetry was not really my thing. I wrote poetry as a shy, insecure and sensitive teenager, much as other shy, insecure and sensitive teenagers did, but as I grew older it lost its allure. Not because I was less inclined … Continue reading Advice for the Young (Poet) at Heart
The sun shone through, my hope returned, and I drifted on rays of sutured miracles that stitched the dark and light together. And like the Creator Himself, brought me shining back to life. The All or the Nothing is my … Continue reading Back to Life. A poem.
Acid wash away my pain release me from this blinkered Bleach burns me clean and pure tear shreds off my heart and break me Down Until time bleeds on my just Reward And bleaches this world just like The All … Continue reading Bleach. A poem.
At the end of the affair, when all is lost, was won, when the final note is written when all has come undone. The longing and the passion converted now to envy, the embers now black charcoal of fires that … Continue reading The End of the Affair. A poem.
I hang on your every word. Every nuance and subtlety tightens your noose and I gasp and grasp for air and the latency of truth. My limbs flail in puppet motions; I’m a paper doll with button joints, anointed in … Continue reading Hangman. A poem.
You endow me with gossamer wings, a loving benefaction granted; a gift that encapsulates and enables flight to peregrine places uncharted and exotic. But with so many destinations and arterial paths and so many cloudy possibilities, only one makes any … Continue reading Wings. A poem.
Night, again and here I am, pondering the specificity of my unctuous requests, enraptured and Heaven-sent on the backs of clasped palms, no random incidental tests of charm. Every night I thank Him there, for faith and hope and grace, … Continue reading Night, Again. A poem.
Caught, Caged and Sentenced. A haiku trilogy. Caught You have trapped me here. I once wandered, so lonely, until your net fell. Caged I am in your cage, your pristine cell; I’m locked in, pacing back and forth. Sentenced Will … Continue reading Haiku Friday. ‘Caught, Caged and Sentenced’. A haiku trilogy.
My futile and unavailing words cannot express the anguished, quixotic, melancholic, mad salience and utterly unquenchable need to hold you and love you as no one ever could or would or should. But here I am, alone. Thinking of nothing … Continue reading The Madness of You. A poem.
This oil, viscous and thick, holding me fast in the tar pit of my black heart and head, since the very start. Wish I could shed this black dog That follows me everywhere. Perhaps soon, anon, I’ll lose my empty … Continue reading This Oil. A poem.
This room is overcrowded, ingurgitated hell. But just you and me, if you subtract everyone else. This room is clamorous, cacophonous hell. But you could hear me (so very clearly), if you subtract everyone else. This room is overheated, agitated … Continue reading Subtract. A poem.
Driftwood, floating on percolating tides. Saltwater soaks fossil branches. Sand embraces nooks and crannies. Driftwood, meandering, awaiting a tactile, tacit end. Longing for a final, lasting beach head. The All or the Nothing is my first book of poetry, and … Continue reading Driftwood (Beached, part 3). A poem.
Laidback DM: SteveStillStanding.com 