Cenotaph

I let the inches creep along the surface
Where once my hand, beside your own, was soft
And slowly did decisions make their purchase
And callouses were made
When rivers deep I chose to wade
And harder still, they soon became when finally crossed

In time the inches crept and skin was stolen
And turned into this carapace of stone
That hid the streaming tears of eyes now swollen
For all the lonely steps
Where racing hearts had finally crept
Until a statue stood to mark an empty home

And maybe hopeful eyes created yearning
And dreamed a day where you returned to me
And crossed the deserts long and oceans churning
With wishes in your palms
To give as whispers of your alms
So that tomorrow was echoed memory

Where curled into my arms, you chose to slumber
And I, but made of stone, began to weep
For though my skin had long been turned to umber
And stoic now, my face
It softened still in your embrace
For there within, a heart remained for you to keep

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Quill

Perhaps I need to hold onto the lie we tell each other
Where on a faded map, forever waits
And where we speak of treasure, what we see in one another
Is a value made of interwoven fates

And that’s the place I’ll finally get to see you
Like a clover in a world I made of dandelion dreams
Where mists of recollection I can see through
And I finally find the words that might convey how much you mean

And maybe it’s a world that’s not unlike the one we’re granted
Just painted in a different shade of truth
And there, in painted fields and narrow roads, so have we planted
What could be the lonely echoes of our youth

Perhaps a dream is all I can remember
A memory of how your gentle smile holds me still
And though my heart is frozen in December
It holds a rose for you and always will
For though a thousand nights have passed and faded like an ember
My heart is merely ink but you’re the quill

Symphony

There, as if drawn by the orchestral notes of despair
Where strings are the echoes of confidence never reclaimed
Violins strung with the promise of pain in the air
And played with a bow that could never be tamed
For eternity built it with only a strand of your hair

I, as the listener, lingered where longing provoked
The somber refrain of the melody best never heard
Cellos were playing the darkest and deepest of notes
A cadence of crying that carefully lured
Me to temples, where tired and tearful, I tragically spoke

There, in the chamber, were tapestries painted of you
And organs were weeping the hymns of your final farewell
Timpanis were pulsing – the beat of my heart as you flew
And left on my lips were the words in a swell
A crescendo intended, now suddenly hollow and few

I, as the watcher, was singing the last of my songs
Where notes are the humming of rain in the days that I wait
Trumpets of tragedy, mournfully playing along
And all that I have are the words I create
In a symphony where you were music – and words don’t belong

Tattoo

Maybe I just needed to believe that lies were true
…Nevermind detritus
Or the facts I knew would spite us
I could look upon the clouds and see the clearest shades of blue
And even lying, I would hold your words as true

Looking then for signals or a sign or just a clue
…Nevermind the wording
That would read as disconcerting
I see epithets and reveries and every sort of hue
And you as nothing less than beautiful Nimue

Maybe you just needed something other than the view
…You woke to every morning
Just a glimpse of light adorning
All the images you dearly hold but silently eschew
And maybe that’s the sum of what I was to you

Little more than words that you would file in a queue
…Nevermind the meaning
Or the way your soul was leaning
Just a taste of something different, a color that was new
A fleeting moment that remains like a tattoo


Rachel from In Mind and Out gave me the prompt “Tattoo”…this is what I came up with.

Make-believe

I hold on to the make-believe
The one where you chose not to leave
The one where there, upon a sleeve,
I chose to wear my heart and so I didn’t have to grieve

But then I seem to wake and find
There’s not an option for rewind
Beyond the moments in my mind
And even how they’re blurry, hard to watch, and poorly timed

And so I tell myself a tale
Omitting every fall and fail
And all the pieces fraught and frail
Where how I feel is pertinent and hope can still prevail

But this is only make-believe
A fiction that I choose to weave
A memory I can’t retrieve
A wishful end result, and one I know I can’t achieve

Measurement

The measurement of time
I try to put it into rhyme
As much as what it meant
I try to put to sleep

Commensuration folds
As surely as the hand that holds
And though I still lament
I now refuse to weep

The measurement of wants
Becomes a count of merely once
Because I know intent,
It simply doesn’t keep

And yet I still remain
Without catharsis and in vain
Upon my heart a dent
That makes it hard to sleep

The measurement of me
I wonder, how much do you see
How much is confident
Compared to what is weak?

And how much do I dare
Believe I can and truly share
When if I do repent
It doesn’t mean you’ll speak

But maybe that’s the price
Of knowing that I don’t suffice
And when away you went
I tried to turn my cheek

On measurements required
For the heart that I desired
But when love is spent
What heaven can I seek?

Hubris

I dug into the snow with cracking skin
And fingers red
I wouldn’t listen
They insisted
You were gone or you were dead

And pulling nothing forth of any worth
Or any dread
I’ve chosen you
And chosen to
See evidence in every shred

In tiny grains of sand and little stones
And frozen flakes
They told me, “No…
Just let it go…”
But you’re the dream I won’t forsake

I dug into the earth until it bled
And I beheld
A shred of truth
Idyllic proof
That in my arms you would be held

And pulling everything of any price
And any worth
I’ve chosen you
My chosen view
For any life bereft of you would be a curse