Untitled #6

What I could say that would capture your heart never need pass in thought nor over my lips… For what good would it do behold a heart that does not see the light of day, for caged birds do not sing…

… and I have waited patiently to hear your song… Though I must confess that despite the fact that my ears had not heard a single note, my soul would tune in… listening closely when you were near… Wondering the color of your love…?

And what I would do should that pigment ever stain my fingers…

If allowed to take my hands, submerge them into you and with your essence at my fingertips… compose the world of your dreams right before your eyes… using nothing but your primary colors provided…

… Your reds of anger, frustration and love…

… Yellows of your happiness and laughter…

… Blues of your tranquility and also sadness…

Three colors and a world of possibilities all contained in one heart…

So how dare I to ever try and detain one that beats in melodies that make my soul waltz in thoughts of your color pouring into me slowly like finger-paints yet fluid as watercolors… yet I would never want to draw a single tear… diluting the intensity of your world…

… I am your painter… and the canvas upon which I paint your dreams will be my own beating heart…

A Story of Things Past…

Every day Jonathan greeted the bus driver with a smile and a nearly inaudible good morning as he stepped into the doorway. He caught the bus just two stations away from the beginning of the line so it was always pretty vacant, except for a little girl who’s recently been sitting sat at the very back of the bus everyday. ‘Most likely a latch key kid’ Jonathan would often think to himself and then go about his routine of walking to the middle of the bus dusting off a seat, sitting down and then slowly sip his coffee as he gazed out the window at the world going by. This morning however had something different in store for the mild mannered soft spoken gentleman for shortly after he sat down and had his first taste of coffee, the driver ran over a deep pot hole that rumbled the bus with the force of a contained earthquake that caused Jonathan to grip the cup tightly popping the lid and spilling all over himself.

“Sorry” said the bus driver as he recovered from the rumble himself as he pulled up to the next bus stop. Jonathan stood up brushed himself off and quickly found another seat not covered in coffee at the back of the bus as other patrons boarded. His new seat was not positioned to where he could easily look out of the window, but instead it was facing the little girl that was on the bus before him.

Not being one for odd interactions Jonathan attempted to gaze out of the window behind him but found it awkward twisting his body and angling his neck without strain. So he took a deep breath, repositioned and looked straight ahead in the direction of the little girl which as if by a gentle force caused him to look directly at her.

She wore pink rain boots with a raincoat to match, her hair was black; pulled into a ponytail and her eyes were a deep brown that of an old oak tree. Around her neck she wore a brass pendant in the shape of trumpet that looked an awful lot like the one he bought his wife that had passed away some months ago after a battle with cancer. He bought it to remind her of the night they met at a jazz club after he performed “There is no Greater Love” by Miles Davis. She loved to hear Jonathan play, in fact that night is why she fell in love with him but during her struggle with the sickness he hardly found the strength to do so and following her death not at all.

Lost in this haze of thought Jonathan hadn’t taken notice that his stop had come and that already off the bus. He crossed the street then turned to look back at the bus to see if he could still see the little girl, but she had vanished. In the window however read the word “Play”.

He carried her memory.

Darkness (an ode to you being away)

My closing eyes…

Remove me from the light outside… and as the darkness cradles me, give way for my whispers to romance my memories with images of you during your absence…

The vividness almost real enough to touch, though my hands do not reach out to grasp and instead find their way to my chest… Establishing a connection to my heart because that is where you are…

Such an intimate moment has no words, yet I wish you were near to see me try to form speech… But if you were my telling of how I miss you might not be as sweet… And the delicacy of you repeating those words may not sugar your lips that I will savor once in your presence…

So for now dreams will have to do… In the darkness… And I will wait for the day where my eyes fall upon you…

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I’m not a time traveler
All things in the past are exactly where they were left…

Each having a unique thumb print on my life… I can feel their touch and remember them vividly as if they happened yesterday… 

Even though with some years have gone by, with closed eyes in the darkness I am there… If only but for a moment, I am there…

In a sea of memories that I would never trade, for in swimming their past my currents became stronger… They made me…

Here I now stand… Not bound by them but free of them… placing my hands into the future because I’ve already traveled my past and this waves are behind me.

Surrender

Time has passed and looking around… there is no physical trace of your presence.

Where the time has gone I often search for… tearing up every corner of my mind as if I have lost it…

Time…

Only it was never lost but willfully handed over because I spent it with you and it was worth it…

And now you are gone… neither I or you are in the same place any longer and the longer I sit and think of you, this place screams your name…

Yet it is only silence that echoes and that alone causes me to fight back tears…

And I miss you…

Yet I wouldn’t change the moment that I met you, so that this would never come to be…

Where I am… I have to question because no matter where I am, in truth I am hiding away in my heart looking out onto a world without you… Not having to even think of where you are because your memory is here with me…

And here I am… Just now listening to everything that you have ever said in the past… Speechless to respond because I should have listened then… And now you are too far away to hear me…

There is not a physical trace of you, but your essence is…

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If nothing but the measurement between two points… Distance is open to the appreciation of time…

And though from where I stand to where you are might very well be miles apart, you are so near to my heart…

And the only space between us is a coveted absence allowing me to grow fonder… Patiently awaiting the moment you arrive…

Because during the time I did not even know of your existence, I’ve missed you while walking roads less traveled for so long to find… When all that was required of me was to be still and await for the right time…

(WG1715)

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Blush and let me place a curse upon your lips that you may not speak what caused your skin to flush the color of bruised roses…

So that every time anyone sets eyes upon you they instantly see that you are in love and jealousy becomes of them… not to want you, but to desire to be the person who you are in connection with even when away…

So that when you gaze into your reflection all you see is your soul igniting over and over again for this man that did this to you… That will always do this to you….

The man that does not seek to be seen by you, but to reveal your love and revel in its ambrosia nectars…. Siphoning it into himself and expelling his love into you… It’s infinite cycle… He can’t hold onto his love and so he gives it to you and you in return gift your to him…

(NP1315)