She lacks fire.
Passion, dripping from every pore.
Determination and will for what she loves.
Instead she goes about,
With that dead look in her soul,
With nothing that can stir a storm.
She has no fight, no claim.
Only emptiness.
Except once.
Except that one time.
When they locked eyes,
The world crashed around them.
But neither noticed.
Then, I saw it.
A spark.
It’s been raining for eighty days.
The rain has washed all nature of sin,
But not mine.
The dewey mist brings out the green in trees,
And plants alike,
Against the stormy grey skies.
Humidity gives us false warmth and smells.
Washing nature of the past,
But not, not mine.
Nature can erase, dispose,
Forget, remake.
But not I.
The rain smells of sadness today.
The ground wet, with all the chagrin it washed away,
As we try and cleanse the impurities.
With the rain, leaves sorrow and loss.
Innocence.
But with this—Hope.
The birds sing, a battered song.
The kind they used to sing before.
It gives way to new beginnings.
And with that, Spring.
I can’t breathe.
I am a statue,
Shock through my veins,
Tension in my heart.
The world is still.
Such that I am not sure it is moving.
I thought I left those ideals behind.
That vision of us, was long gone.
But with each tear,
I see it isn’t so.
Shock.
Stillness and silence.
And the feeling that you don’t matter anymore.
Because he moved on.
And you didn’t.
Here, everybody is looking the other way.
Everyone is blindfolded.
I must endure their banter,
Knowing it isn’t supposed to be as such.
I endure everything.
But I am not blind.
I see.
Distractions cannot fool me,
Nor can lies turn me the other way.
Because the rest of the world is watching,
And it’s too late to turn away.
Blood, sweat, and tears,
Went into much wanted perfection.
Stress, worries, doubts,
Flooded each note, each breath.
With everything wrong you lost a shred
Of hope, a ray of light, that one day you will be
Where you want to be today.
Impatience, repetition, angst,
Has been immersed in the sound you have
Been working to produce since forever.
Do you know the feeling?
When everything you have worked for,
Has no value in the end?
She spent her days fixing all her flaws
And changing all imperfections,
Making herself perfect.
She spent her time thinking of what to fix,
Looking at the wrongs,
And yelling for change.
After all was said and done,and irreversible,
She spent her days wondering
Why she worked so hard to change,
When the beauty she had came from her flaws.
A song, that one can hear,
If you tune to the heart of the rhythm.
A symphony, that one can feel,
Composed by the sound of the water.
Catch, as we go to the finish,
Exactly in sync with the one ahead.
We follow the eighth,
We race with the wind.
In harmony with the boat and the water.
We are composers of a silent song
That only one can hear,
When you row crew.
I may be loud,
But I can keep a secret.
I may act stupid,
But I am intelligent.
I may act gullible,
But I truly don’t understand.
I may seem weak,
But I can take the pain.
I may seem easy,
But I dont give myself away.
I may not look like I know what I’m doing,
But thats just part of the plan.
I may not know how to get you to like me,
But you can’t blame me for trying.
I may seem unreliable,
But I can always be counted upon.
You may not like me,
But I like you,
And I am me.
What would it be like,
If I couldn’t say what is inside?
If no words could grasp,
This meaning.
If no sound, or melody,
Could make clear of it.
What would it say?
When we can’t find a way?
Take me away.
Far from the clutches of all tangible things,
Into the waiting arms of the impossible,
That even dreams are jealous.
Take me, into fearsome battle,
Between words and thought,
Into the heart of epiphanies,
That only lie, between the pages.
When one’s mind lies full,
The empty paper lies
Beckoning, beckoning,
Mockingly inviting the ink to spill
One’s deepest secrets,
The kind that are
Riveting, riveting,
And thus, passion leaks.
From tainted minds,
To hesitant hands,
Into starving paper.
Stare.
Deeply into the soul,
Searching and finding,
Everything, yet nothing.
A spark, a connection, says all,
Moments in time rendered mute.
Stare…
And through our eyes,
A single thought, understood.
Wordlessly conveyed, and peaceful.
