Linger.

He said,

physical pain leaves no memory

It is the emotional pain that lingers

As if those thoughts have the same touch,

the same impact of her fingers.

It is only the beautiful memories that hurt

reminiscent of promises broken,

and the sweetness of heartfelt whispers

that will never again be spoken.

It only stops hurting when you forget

when those thoughts no longer re-surface

and tearful goodbyes filled with regret

prove she didn’t hurt you on purpose

And on the day you witness

what used to be your happiness

on another face,

you quickly come to realize

that your memories now belong

to the one who’s taken your place.

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Like A Dagger

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when he enters your heart like a dagger
there is no painless way out
snatch it out swiftly or gradually extract it
wavering in the ‘how’ of your needing
there is no means to stop the bleeding
*
when she enters your heart like a bullet
there is no where to escape it
lodged in your rib cage or passing straight through
wavering in the convictions of your hoping
but knowing your heart will surely be broken
*
through vacuous hopes and empty promises
and glances brimming with doubt
one day you realize you’ve been living without
and that salty tears between faltering smiles
do nothing to alleviate the daily trials
*
just as those flowers dry..  dying in their vase
that memory soon becomes a mere  trace
of a figment of someone else’s imagination
a fictitious allegory of some wise man’s creation
until one day you yourself
become that dagger upon the shelf
a bullet shot without an aim
and you enter someone else’s heart
in vain. 

Silence Has A Sound

eyes

These eyes,
they hide
a wall of tears
though it does nothing to quell the flame,
they hide behind
a wall of fears
that echoes the sound of your name.

This heart,
its roads,
its inlets and tributaries
that venture to you
and from you
are stained red from the wine you spilled
though it had no color.

These hands, these arms
as they hold and surround you
though they mean to provide you peaceful solace
they only seem to confound you.

This silence –
this silence though it may be golden
it is not always consent;
mere empty promises that keep me beholden
to words, like a coil that is wound
and wound,
betraying a silence that does indeed
have a sound.

I Did Not Tell You

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There was so much I did not say when you said goodbye
Now I wonder if I did, what would have been your reply

I did not tell you that your leaving
was a catastrophe buried in grieving

like the avalanche leaving the mountain slope
destroying all flicker of hope.

I did not tell you of the heart that you ripped asunder,
leaving it to drown in a sea of its own blood,
or of the soul you left in silent wonder
like the silent destruction after the flood.

I did not tell you that I saw an ocean in your eyes,
and that every time you spoke I felt your spirit rise.

I did not tell you of the graceful gait with which you moved about,
and the confidence and assurance that left me with no doubt.

I did not tell you and I never will, some words are to remain unspoken,
but every word I said to you was a promise that remains unbroken.

I did not tell you that I did not know who I was without you,
that every word you spoke was truth and I could never doubt you.

I did not tell you that even now the wind still carries your name,
and every flood of tears I swam through could never kill the flame.

I did not tell you how your arms engulfed me, how much your love surrounds me.
How your mere touch could heal my soul, will forever astound me.

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Wanderers In A Field of Flowers

“Behind the blood-stained curtains of Love, 
there are fields of flowers where lovers wander.

To wander in the fields of flowers, pull the thorns from your heart.”
~ Rumi
Image

A girl once wandered along a field of flowers, feet bare
Carefree and unafraid of what she might encounter there

She knew the thorns she removed from her staunch heart
were the launching point, from the point of depart

With the promises that come with the freedom of wings
that portend magical Hope and other beautiful things.

She stopped in the midst of flowers abounding
held out her arms to soak in the sun’s rays astounding

Her head raised high, her eyes serenely closed
no more tranquil an image could have been posed.

Soon thereafter, a feather from the heavens fell
suddenly appearing, as if cast from a spell

It gently danced and glided, sought out her hand
as if searching for a warm place to land

A feather of the most vibrant hues
like the flowers; reds, yellows, greens and blues.

No sooner had the feather ended its flight
there followed a most ethereal sight .

It was the most exquisite bird,
and suddenly,
something within the girl’s staunch heart stirred.

On her outstretched hand, the bird gracefully landed,
peered into her soul, her attention it commanded.

Resplendent and fine, its feathers in all those dazzling hues
like the flowers; reds, yellows, greens and blues.

She could not help but caress those fine feathers,
as she stood amidst the irises and the heathers.

The bird sang a melody so sanguine and so sweet
only briefly it lingered in sorrow,
a song reminiscent of times long past,
and a subtle promise of tomorrow.

As the bird then moved to the palm of her hand
its beauty, a stunning mesmerization;
the awareness that it may soon fly away
was a sudden and terrifying realization.

She held it with care, grateful for each moment
treasuring each offering like a gift from a lover
Is your heart here to stay, she wanted to ask,
or does it belong to another?

You are not from this place, she thought to herself
You belong in paradise, your heavenly abode
Are you visiting, dear wanderer? Or lost, searching for home?
Still pursuing a path along your designated road?

How easy it would be to close that hand
hold the exquisite bird there forever..
It would sing to her every day,
A bond that would not sever.

But love is not of a forced possession
In her being, this she knew.
That vibrant light would surely dim
There would be no more vibrant hue

And so she wandered on in the field of flowers,
towards the blazing horizon of the dusking sky.
The majestic bird perched upon her open hand
as it sang the songs of days gone by.

Fear remains, along with many thoughts awoken
they set behind the fiery orange-crimson sun,
they hide behind fragile promises spoken,
and gold-gilded intentions begun.

Twilight descends, infused with the disquiet dark brings
accentuated by the stillness of night..
‘but the morning brings strength to her restless wings*’
and Hope, emerges with the Light.

 

*Jackson Browne