Recompense

I see you in swamps and I cannot but rush to your side
Knowing, certainly, serpents are hiding there under the tide
And yet, without any regret do I follow
For life, without you, seems so terribly hollow
Like words from my lips lacking even an ear to confide

I see you in places you never existed at all
Like there in the midst of a desert, a cobblestone wall
And still, so approaching, I kneel for I need to
And say, with a heart hanging heavy, I need you
Like feet on the ledge of eternity destined to fall

I see you and hope that, in time, it’ll pass and become
No more than a shadow from days with an off-center sun
And yet, do I hope to forget ever wanting
The you that’s removed from the future I’m hunting
For hollow, it seems, such a victory, terribly won

I see you and all I recall are the reasons I need
To see you again, thinking naught of the cost that I feed
Nor care what had led me to where you were standing
Or what could become from the things you were planning
For, bowing to you was I willing to do like a creed

I see you, and maybe I shouldn’t, but always I will
As if an ellipsis that follows the word of until…
And so, without worry, and ‘lo in your travel
I follow and see that I slowly unravel
But love is a cost and I promised I’d settle the bill

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Interpretation

Perhaps the poems I write for you are what my fingers trace
While following the scars upon a heart I can’t erase
The Morse code of the tapping tears that travel down your face
And so do I decipher them like sad binary code made from the burns of cigarettes and tattered lace

Perhaps the poems I write for you are raindrops in the wind
A book of lightning letters in the veins upon your skin
The prayer I wouldn’t say because for you I would’ve sinned
And so I search for you in all the words already written and inaccurately write them all again

Perhaps the poems I write for you or pressed upon your cheek
A record that my fingers play forever on repeat
The lines upon your lips that, when you’re silent, seem to speak
And so I deconstruct them into sentences and phrases like a secret that my heart could never keep

Perhaps the poems I write for you are what I choose to see
The memory of photographs that never came to be
The parts of you that led me to the better parts of me
And so I seek to paint them as a portrait of tommorow in the shades of every lost apology

Ribbon

You shifted like a sheet of silk
And called to my attention like a tiny golden bell
Left ringing a tower
Or a fragile, crystal flower
Winding slowly through the bower
To an opening where feathers slowly fell

From angels who had yet to soar
For, even now, they watch and wait and pray to see you there
With fingers long and slender
And their hearts forever tender
Offered forth in soft surrender
In the hope to be a ribbon in your hair

You drifted like a feather lost
And beckoned me to follow like a compass made of June
In lands of weary winter
Where the sun was but a splinter
From a door I couldn’t enter
To an opening where night was not immune

From little stars you left behind
When up and up you went and left your tower in the mist
And so I set to climbing
To the memory of chiming
From a bell that kept it’s timing
In the hope to be a ribbon on your wrist

Medallion

What can I say in prayer when she, it seems, is all the aura of the moon?
And burns as if a candle in the darkest room of night
So much I wonder, if before I knew her name, I knew of sight
As if my heart was made of thread, and she was nothing short heaven’s only loom

Upon her brow a crown that not an element in life could truly forge
Nor could a hundred million hands with all the time to spare
Or all the alchemists in all the world to lay the circuits bare
She is a queen within a palace in a land beyond the sea, beyond a gorge

What can I say in poetry for she who has a soul that is a sun
That lights a universe but sees herself as but a spark
When, to my eyes, she is a flare when all the world is cold and dark
And, from her lips, a simple word would see my soul, for her, as won

As if I were a crown, or else a pendant, or a ring for her to wear
Or just a bit of flint to light the candle of her day
Or else a hand upon her shoulder when her fears have gone astray
Or just the words, “I’ll always love you,” whispered in a way that only she can hear

Sighing

When she breathes, it’s cotton
Spun around this world of mine forgotten
Webs of gossamer I’m caught in
Like a fly, or spider
In a web of if, but not when

Tied here like a sonnet
Just a bee within her precious bonnet
Eyes upon a dream that’s gone, yet
Growing ever wider
Like her cheek, and I a tear upon it

When I speak, it’s solemn
As if leaves within the bleakest autumn
Sights are set upon the bottom
Scraping like a lighter
In the shadow world you’re not in

Even though I’m trying
With a thirst in spanning deserts drying
And a pulse that’s slowly dying
Like the will of every fighter
And your name, the words of resignation that I’m sighing…

Chime

Like a chime of waking, marks the time I think of you
And though our worlds behold a distance
First an hour, then by two
To me, it never makes a difference
Whether skies are gray, or white, or match your eyes of blue
Or if the moment comes and goes in but an instant

To the chime of each arrival, eyes would rush to meet
Your words, regardless of the hour,
Whether it’s goodbye or greet
My words a vine, and you the bower
Coursing as if fingers on your spine beneath a sheet
As a bouquet of poems offered as a flower

With the chime of evening, when our moons are yet the same
Between the moments of departure
Where new messages remain
As if a kiss, or fragile art, your
Image lingers softly like a dream I can’t explain
For I an arrow, and, my dear, you are an archer

Like the chime of morning, are your lips upon my own
As if a breath of resurrection
Or the feeling like I’m home
Beholden to your fair complexion
In this crowded world where, evermore, you stand alone
My heart a clock that chimes for you with such affection

Ania

There I saw her dancing once
As soft, and calm as autumn dust
My angel in this world of ashes raining from an empty sky

Listening to distant rain
Like songs that never sound the same
As those she heard before when she could smile and her eyes were dry

There she was, with folded wings
Her words and heart a coiled spring
Where joy was like a cigarette, and life a flame, and hope a sigh

There I saw her, looking down
Her tears, they never made a sound
Where rain was all around her, and my arms could never keep her dry

Wondering how I can see
A dance where surely none could be
An answer where she sees forever what? and who? and how? and why?

There she is, as if the moon
Her darkest day is bright as noon
For I, who saw her dancing once, with folded wings, and tears within her eyes