(2014)
#Life #LonelinessLoss #Love
I’ve kept my eyes closed most of these past eighteen years because I find it just as dark
There is something to be said of a true friend One who will pull the knife from your back One who will stitch the wounds
The pen must be mightier than the sword For there is nothing that will spill your guts faster than a bit of ink that says
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
I see words screaming for attention etched in the lines of your face Let me look closer
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes
I spend my nights wishing on every star in the sky that you are alive and well
I was like a rain cloud over a small garden and dammit if you weren’t that garden so full of flowers that I fell in love
My heart was paper now folded six times over to make it harder to tear I only hope that
You were the wind beneath my wings but I was Icarus so all I did
I see poems that need to be written scrawled in the shape of your smile and the lines of your face
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
So much time passes without feeling a single thing that I think I would give anything
Hope in another form but no fewer letters and I’ve been hoping for these past eight years so I’ll just keep on