It's The Little Things

​You’re the calm autumn wind,

The one that chills my feverish skin,

You’re the perfume of wood stove fires,

Of fresh coffee on to brew,

You’re the breeze through my hair, 

As I imagine you there,

You’re the daisies in the meadows,

We passed that one summer day,

 

You’re the rushing river current,

And drizzling of the rain,

Your voice melodic like the crickets,

Chirping under an aurora sky,

Your eyes the color of honey,

Doused in sunlight,

Intoxicating me slowly,

But if that’s my undoing,

I’ll be quite alright,

 

Your tone as delicate as footsteps in the snow,

Your gaze as strong as my will to cling,

To the sunset behind your eyelids,

Your gentle nature an addictive drug,

To a battered soul like mine,

Of all these central things,

That reminds me of you,

The most significant reminder, hands down,

Are the moments I spent with you. 

Let Me Espresso My Thoughts

 (Response poem to Billy Collins Morning pp. 31)

Alas, you love mornings more than the night,

 I understand, but I must implore you to try,

 The elixir of life under the umbrella of stars,

 With the ambiance of music and espresso healing a writer’s plight,

 

Why is it only morning you lack this despair?

 For me, daybreak lacks a certain flair,

 Until I roll out of bed and shuffle directly to the machine,

 To prep my freshly ground espresso beans,

 

No cold water will do,

 Nor brush to the mane will it tame,

 The single thing my body can execute,

 Is sway in cadence as the blessed espresso brews,

 

My vitamins give me no hope,

 Nor the books lining my shelves,

 Even with an open window or two,

 The hour has already soured my essence,

 And with espresso, do I allow it to soothe,

 My poor aching soul and the heart that awoke unfathomably bruised,

If we have anything in common, it’s the loath of the afternoon,
 In the depths of my own despair, I’ll settle for cold brew, too,

 Even with the cello music playing softly in my ear,
 And heavy clouds gently rolling in on the mist,

 I still love my nighttime espresso enjoyment,

 Mostly, when I haven’t collapsed out of my blessed bed,

 And ended up a crumpled, under-caffeinated mess on my knees instead.

Sorrow’s Camaraderie

With sweet sorrow, I stroll,
Between these mystifying footpaths,
Her countenance is gentle as she leads,
Me through a hall of emotive congruences,
We progress through twists and through turns,
Not with my hand in her hand,
Or, like friendly friends,
More forward, she escorts me,
Like friend and foe,
Into the ethereal unknown,
Oh, how I hate my long-suffering sorrow,
But such a gentle foe she is,
If I should wake up before tomorrow,
I pray she concedes me the rise of the morn,
At last, she can grant me a few rays,
When more time I spent in darkness’ gaze,
Sorrow, not too far behind,
Much like a brusque breeze,
She finds a way to burrow,
To unravel my frames moderate disease,
Trading instead an infliction,
Until I'm undone and positively futile,
Her skillful work is overall exhaustive,
And more potent than when she’d first instigated,
Her easy watch as I wallowed,
Instead of racing ahead and outrun,
In her footsteps do I shadow,
My distress completely undone,
As I stay astride this loved one,
The only one who is want to care,
The one who understands my hollow core,
Until my reserve strengthens again,
To whence I can lead on,
I’ll follow her into the dark,
Oh, sweet friend,
My gentle foe,
My one true love in my sweet sorrow. 

The Two-Way Mirror of Despair

 Through the thick and the thin, through far and wide,

Through the years and years, I’ve suffered and withdrew with,
The sorrow of depression, through and through,

You never made me feel inadequate,
For all the things I’ve been through,
Through the thick and the thin, though far and wide,

Through years of nightmares turned true,
You held me close and still, even with,
The sorrow of depression, through and through,

You kept me close to your heart,
And mellowed my innermost storms,
Through the thick and the thin, through far and wide,

Through this year of heartache and break,
We tried to muddle through, the muck that mental anguish grew from,
The sorrow of depression, through and through,

Waiting for an ounce of normality,
To see me through to you,
Through the thick and the thin, through far and wide,
And the sorrow of my depression, through and through,

Nocturnal Masquerade

  My fears in dark masks appear, 

 As visions, they sway a dance most obscure, 

 They flit through my psyche, 

 A galvanized mirror, 

 A bemused locale for these spirits, I trust, 

 This display of marionettes parades one after the other, 

 And in my mind's eye, 

 The portraits all blend into one another, 

 As the break of day begins to make way,

 In the blush of blithe rays,

 A laughable offense, I'm sure not intended, 

 In the darkness, or the hereafter, 

 They prompted quite a fright, 

 Of fevered dreams they undoubtedly were, 

 When left without a defense to my lucidity, 

 Oh, they caused me quite a stir, 

 They weaved a tale of worry and woe, 

 Displayed it in accounts with horror projected, 

 But as I woke the morn after, 

 Laying saturated in the adept shield of light, 

 As I view the terrors of the night before, 

 Through visions, like memories, like opening visual doors,

 They stopped being fearsome with no great malady, 

 If this is what haunts me in the obscure of night, 

 In confidence, they can visit as often as they like, 

 For if such austere fears try as they might, 

 I'll gladly turn in for yet another feverish night, 

 Where fears bedecked in masks once worn,

 By a more fearsome foe than they,

 Adorning the facades of decidedly milder peer, 

 I'll take it as a 'fearsome' tale, 

 And not fear the fall of slumber anymore.

Amid the Leaves of Dusk

 Like the wind, I’m not carefree,
 An ever-changing breeze, I may seem,
Yet maybe a hurricane, Oh what a cliché,
 Whatever I am, I am anyway,

Upon one day, I may clarify,

 While hidden amongst the wilds, I hold a unique alibi,

If discovered, I’m anxious to admit,

 All the iniquities I have omitted,

Where I blend into the backdrop of darkness, a true asset,

 I save wonderous souls a most great upset,

For when I hid amongst the leave the trees had spat,

 My footsteps concealed in nature-blessed format,

For once, I longed to be seen, but my soul attained this fancy absurd,

 When between pages and leaves, all words had been rudely blurred,

As I am of only flesh and blood,

 Where once my desolate tears were want to flood,

I secured my skirts and ran from afar,

 Eager to escape so as not to defend my scars,

In the depths and hallows, the wilds allow,

 This strange sense of understanding somehow,

With likened folks, I sensed I would annoy,

 Their calm dignity to my admissions tended to destroy,

My entire existence, as if I was an afterthought,

 Then there’s just I, a small speak, a blot,

So quickly was I to overlook,

 Until I ran far and wide and undertook,

Where trees cannot bemoan,

 As I set forth a new home, my final capstone,

Where leaves and moss hide me from sight askew,

 As If they’re saying I belong there, too.

Poem: Waxen Romantic

Submitted for my Creative writing class:

I long not to be likened to a flower,
 A cacti I strive to be,
Cruelly misunderstood in my affections,
 Prickly, if you as much as try to touch,
Where I still blossom a stately bloom,
 No such burden to stand in one attitude,
With sufficient room to reach,
 My succulent stems protrude,
With spines and my waxen films,
 I bask quite contentedly, safe in my skin,
Able am I to comfortably mature,
 In the confines of my armor,
Unlike a bud in any field,
 None will pluck me to adorn their sill,
For I know I'm agreeable from afar,
 As a cacti is unique to be,
In reverse, I flourish,
 Against the grain sits well with me,
As ageless as I impress,
 We resemble each in sublimity,
When gratitude is found lacking,
 And not one seems to look twice,
If notice is not had,
 I supposed my lone company’s not half bad,
Unlike with florals, their fondness lively,
 And fauna a healthful jade glow,
Then, with my spined self, it's not all that bleak,
 And that is all I pray to know,
Before all of my lengthy tomorrows,
 In sorrow, I shall not want to wallow.

Poem: As It Is

Like a rose,

Pain may be,

Its petals the flesh,

Her thorns a cutting-edge,

When all should be present,

Her color shall deplete,

In forming red trails,

To pool at her feet,


In admiring glances,

Does she romance,

Yet once near, she can protest,

The pain of being kept,

If gripped too firmly,

Through the petals, she’ll split,

Where distress in you spreads,

For she will admire her effect,


When agony is but a rose,

You accept your woeful fate,

Because the mark she leaves behind,

Will outlive the beauty in her wake.

Poem: What Once Was, Shall Never Be

​You used to brag,

About all the ex-lovers you kept as friends, 

How different you were,

How unbiased you became,

So excuse me if I wither at your words,

And your claim to old flames,

For I sit extinguished,

In everyone else's gaze.

Every pleasant word spoken,

For anothers worth,

And as I sat with you for years, 

All I’m left with is tears,

Of what we used to be,

Of what we could have been,

And now, at the edge of beginning and end,

I teeter between both as I’m want to do,

Stuck in memories of me and you,

So when you say you rather part ways,

Excuse my lack of words,

I begged as much as I could,

To make you see my worth.

Instead, you saw me as a monster,

Waiting for our end,

When in reality, it was the opposite instead.

With open eyes, you saw,

Without truly seeing,

And as I watched you fall,

From the man I thought you to be,

I gathered up the last bit of me,

And slunk away,

Ashamed at how things came to be. 

So excuse me for my tears,

I’m not yet done mourning,

The plans that we were making, 

The old we planned on sharing,

And with clear understanding I sit,

A hollowed out mess of the girl I used to be,

When everyone had a piece,

Once done,

They did away with me,

So, excuse my lack of begging,

I’ve done more than enough of that,

If you can’t give me a little bit of understanding,

Then I can’t fight you on it,

I needed you to see me clearly,

But in a fog, you fought the wrong fight,

When I showed you my inner demons,

You made up new ones for me to fight,

Instead of being there,

You left me alone at night,

And in my heart of hearts,

I started to see no light.

So excuse me, my grief,

For I’ve never been here before,

When I thought we would be forever,

It meant I’d be watching you leave through that door,

Of a home we began to make,

In easier of times,

In the days we had hoped for,

But now we’ve parted ways,

And even as I sit,

The memories that were made,

In my head, I think back,

On the lovers, you made friends,

And how even as darkness looms,

A part of me still craves, 

For the man you were back then,

The one who bragged about your difference,

And how unbiased you had been,

When we first started,

Two bright-eyed in love kids,

Now I sit,

My fingers tracing your words,

That in any kind of way,

We will never be,

Something so poetic, 

I guess,

Was never meant to be.