Memories

We sift through sand at times
Fingers looking for grains that either won’t slip
Or else
For grains that we need to see fall away
But days from now
…Weeks from now
… …Years from now
On days where we look back at beaches where we feared to swim
And talk of days we never dared to dream
We remember moons on cloudy nights
And suns when storms are at their worst
We see the sharpened edges dull
And the imperfect moments honed
Until they are so sharp
The only thing they can do is cut
So much nostalgia
…Rose-colored glasses
Memories of lipstick where lips never lived
And words never breathed
But memory is like that
We hold on to the things we want to keep
And we let the other things fall away
So what we’re left with is an
Imperfect r
ecollection
Of imperfect events
Like putting a pretty frame
Around a lonely picture
With burnt edges
Hiding the places that hurt
Saving the ones that didn’t
Keeping the grains
And forsaking the hourglass
Looking so lovingly at those hazy mirrors
For the reflections that never really were
And hoping to see them again
Because that’s what memories are
The hoping for yesterday
In a world filled with nothing but tomorrows


I don’t normally do free-verse. If you follow me, you know this. Anywho…here’s a free-verse poem because…reasons…¬†

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Spell

Sometimes I lose the letters in your name
The spelling so eludes me
And the syllables confuse me
And I falter when I type it, though I know it’s still the same

I wonder, then, how this could come to be
How one that mattered greatly
Could become a name that lately
I now hesitate to type as if a word I’ve never seen

Sometimes I start to think that I forgot
Your name and how I’d daily
Think your messages could save me
And I longed to be a fly and in your web securely caught

But now the web is like a growing gray
My wings no longer flutter
And I struggle just to utter
What your name is as I lose you like you’re hours in the day

Refrain

The days are fading out
Much like a stranger’s name
Who spoke to me, but what about
I can’t seem to retain
And so I cast my fears in doubt
And wounds of you, I lie and try to claim
No longer growing tender

My will is slipping down
Much like a lover’s gaze
And sits as heavy as a crown
Made of forgotten days
And so in bottles do I drown
And hear the words I never heard you say
Two years ago, November

The time is growing thin
Much like a starving soul
Like leaves within a tired wind
And parchment full of holes
Like words of “Tell me how you’ve been”
And so replied with silence written bold
Denied: returned to sender

My worry seems to wane
Much like a friendly face
My hands against the window pane
In this, a hollow place
Left haunting like a lost refrain
The one you wish to desperately erase
I hope that you remember

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

Gift

She was fire
Or a spark
Or just Prometheus

I was dire
I was dark
And I was weak to this

I saw an answer to a prayer
Where I’d believed for all my life that none was there
And felt a warmth that laid my feelings bare
Where for so long I’d lost the will to care

She was faithful
She was real
Or just a reverie

I was wasteful
And concealed
The wounds that severed me

I saw a candle in the clouds
Where I’d believed that light could never be allowed
And felt the warmth of it beneath the shroud
Where long I hid with head forever bowed

She was clever
She was kind
She offered sympathy

She was never
Really mine
I hide her name
In little rhymes
Her fleeting presence in my life –
It was a gift to me

Remember

“Do you remember?” the voice said. Words as warm as summer mist that cradled my ears. Words warm with the bounty of a promise that was not yet made a lie.

“Do you remember?”

But eyes like mine could not open to see who spoke. Eyes like mine…

Something warm moved against my skin, the touch of silk kissed by the sun. It moved a span of eons in mere inches, a phantom longing held tightly in its wake.

“Do you remember?”

I wanted to. More than anything, I wanted to remember. I wanted to reach out and grab the memory with hands that never learned to let go. I wanted to remember everything…

I could feel the ghost of time that breathed a momentary lapse of spring. That thin veil of winter gliding low beneath where heat was still an echo.

“Do you remember?” it said. It’s voice was painted in the tones of honey. Landscapes of a hope made whole before where morning breaks its cadence.

I wanted to see those lands. Those dense and sprawling plains where I could wander in the safety of its music. Wrapped within the blanket of its kindness in the space before where evening stripped me bare.

“Do you remember?” it asked like broken cobwebs in the window pane.

“Do you remember?”

But lips like mine were never meant to speak. Lips like mine…

“No,” it said in such a hollow tone. “I don’t suppose you would.”