Breaking free

As much as I would like for it not to be

My mind, it relives an odd history. 

Businesses unfinished, irrelevant, futile,

Questions unanswered, ignored, inutile.

Monsters forgotten, with a steady grip, hold on.

Hues of green still bring unsettling alarm. 

Drawings and words that once caused a sweet commotion

Now fill my heart with doubt - and no other emotion. 

Empty fields, an uninhabited sky, 

Still burn with memories - of those days, those eyes. 

Scars of thorns that once punctured my soul,

Trust once tested,  left only shreds to condole. 

What yesterday was malfeasance, today is wistful yore.

It all seems golden, not as grey as before. 

The stairs, the pallet, the quad, the verdure

The past has, somehow, my mind immured.

Detaching from bygones shouldn’t be such a mystery 

Disentanglement from who I once was shouldn’t need such artistry 

The pain is gone, and lust forlorn, what’s keeping this wicked connection?

How can concord be losing to some retired, unrequited affection?

Let’s talk, shall we?

Let’s talk about the sun setting this eve,

Or how the stars in the night sky bleed

The lights that dance and drown

In waters still, untouched, unfound. 

Or those eyes, oh, that mahogany hellfire 

Piercing, untamed; an arctic pyre.

Of breaking hearts and true loves lost. 

The chances missed, those stray thoughts. 

Let’s talk about death and dreams,

And evaluate the futures unseen. 

Of detachment borne of distance 

That somehow melts in an instance.

About games played, beyond recollection 

Enchantment eclipsed with inattention.

Eskimos and boxes, and rules unreasonable

Blowers, and daughters and volcanoes unbeatable. 

Let’s talk about truths, and maybe about the rumble;

Of words unsaid, and memories that are now jumbled. 

How the smoke somehow veils the raw actuality,

How easily we give in to instincts trifled with morality. 

But with this dalliance obscured in pompous utterances

Unvoiced musings do become common occurrences.

So let’s talk, shall we, about this secrecy we’ve embraced,

Of the rapture that disdain still hasn’t erased. 

Snowflakes

Winters were always her favorite.

The cool winds, the small days,

The silent nights,

And the sun tucked away.

A steamy cup, cupped in her hands,

Dancing, oh, the aromas of coffee

Break of dawn, or end of day?

The warmth emanating through her body.

Snow always fascinated her

How it fell, and covered all in her sight,

Every flake so different,

Yet making all alike.

Each streetlight accessorized,

By the flurry, that hurries by,

In the calm, that is a winter’s night,

There is nothing too hard to hide.

Not sure when this adoration

Diffused into her actuality;

How everything just seemed

To embody this deep duality.

The long nights, and endless daze

Icy hearts, and cold, long stares,

Nothing cuts through this reticent exchange.

Stinging truths, hidden with flair.

Winter had been her favorite,

The icy chill, the endless nights,

The muffled days,

Devoid of life, deprived of light.

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