the end of a longing
farewell to the bloom of my heart’s desire,
the fire put out,
while the smoke perpetually transpires
the fading spite leaves way for a molded memory
I bid to this feeling once and for all goodbye
this is the end of a remembering,
but as the autumn falls into my path,
this past,
a summer dawning an imprint beyond any before,
will linger,
serving as a canon for my dreams,
a lighthouse for my wandering days.
farewell to thee, I say.
it’s coming to fruition, the ion of the fruit, the fruitfulness of a suit, the way it looks, what it is and what it seems to be, the difference in it all, the pleasant passing of what seemingly was, but time does tell, plagiarizing fate and hoping you do well. it really is a hard sell, putting things into places they don’t fit, heating up the pieces for the mold, placing a new tag on something that’s old, it’s all folding in, the place we’re meant to be and where we think we should begin, it’s thin, flying with a paper tail fin, it’s bound to crash, but we outlast, life is the outcast, but we’re not in control, we’re the passenger of life, so when it’s cold it’s cold, nothing to do but involve yourself in what you got, get what you can, leave the rest behind, move on to what is there, don’t take nothing as a sign, sign on to life, smile, laugh live, avoid the strife, avoid painting stripes for the pedestrian. you’re riding life like an equestrian, taking on hope with a cringe, give it a chance, if it plays the right note, your heart can dance, if you’re hanging on a rope, pull yourself up and cope, fill up the holes with what’s always been around, the things not floating will inevitably drown, don’t let someone else’s life get you down ruin your memories of a town, and change the way you feel about anything at all, that one song you heard becomes the subject of harsh words, the pointless potent poise we assign to the reminder of the past, but that too shall pass, the mass of emotion, the singled out fish we thought was the only in the ocean, the notion that when we’re with someone, we’re supposed to be, this is closure, this kind of love is the poser of the actual thing. get used to your immediacy, sideline complacency, let the experiences you claim to be mistakes be benchwarmers for what you’re meant be. hope for what you want to see, but don’t be blind to reality, hold on to the finality of being, make you’re led by hope, but you follow what you’re seeing.
That old new thing that passes,
When timelessness is what went by fastest,
It was supposed to be tragic, not a placid end,
Not an agreement without some lingering love to defend,
No hopefulness, the dreams have faded into a unfeatured future abyss, no well faring, gone without a kiss, just a falsity consuming our patience with this, now the lists are full of bad things to say, what upsets you about me, pointing to the things I say, what I said, yea I said a lot of things, but remember the other things, what I said first, but the Freudian slip just passed me in a hurst, so the forevers and tomorrow’s, the overjoyed thirst for what we had, the passion is felt in the pain, my emotions are all I’ve got, now my words can feel the same. My days are tamed with the songs the radio plays, a jukebox to catch my metaphorical tears, I’m torn but I’m not a part of anything anymore, just myself, my life in front me, I’ve seen more stars, but no one starts to even stare, its an open eye without the glare, a light without the flare, Im paired with disconnections, tripping over the fault lines of my imperfections, intellectual confessions of a dumb boy, lost in his room, missing his favorite toy, the employed coercion of happy facades and smiles, the piles of filed away thoughts, a plotted way down, the frowned essence of my existential mound, pounding at my head, looking for a way to my heart, Guess I forgot how to get there in the midst of this drought, but I’m out of it, I’m faded, insinuated platitudes of a persuaded mind, I guess I’ve lost track on my own time. I need to find myself again I need me to be who I am without lying.
I’m backtracking, trying to get back on track, getting these heavy insecurities off my back; a love-induced, heart-shaped attack on all that this world is lacking; the hoping and dreaming; the naivety that makes our days and nights, the formation of rhyming melodies with vernacular might, the kind of world that does nothing but shine; where smiles are welcomed and doubts are denied; the crime of faults without a face; all gaps are meant to be closed; this world is now full of bridges; a sensational depiction, the aesthetic perfection of pictorial prose, the everything we’re all searching for, that one thing that no one really knows, emotion without pose, picture the majestic subject of this poem; it’s a day without a shout, no negativity around, a morning where you awake with nothing but her sound; hearts beating steady, breaths flowing too, the moment you look at her and you can see, feel, and hear the love between you two. It’s a faltering fatality, this failing world view, one where butterflies are mere insects and the scent of love, flowers can’t produce; one where her eyes are there for her to see, and her teeth are only there for her to eat, where emotions are chemical, and words lack sincerity; oh this world, this world is now gone, for it is something else for which my beat-leaping heart longs; a world anew, one where butterflies are a feeling, a bumble in your gut, that keeps you in-between something you can’t explain and that indescribable luck, where the blooms of the sun reflect the beauty in the world, and you can’t help but let it remind you of that beautiful girl; one where her eyes are a canvass consisting of the colors of your soul, but all the while there is something more, the thing that make your knees shake and your eyes adore, that one personification of a mosaic wonder, a class without a file, it’s this that makes you love her, it’s her smile. It’s all that the world appears to be, when love is your guide and you let your dreams run free.
Help, oh help me imagination, child-like embrace for all that is good.
Come back to me my world of fantastical creation, a place where my heart once lived.
I’ve trotted cautiously on new ground, one where reality holds sway,
Not once though have I told, of a single beauty therein to this day.
I tried to embrace the world as the one of which history tells,
My attempt, dear world, for the better sake of my girl, has largely failed.
But every turned surface can be bright and herein lies your armored knight.
The world of late has taught me much, how not to speak, and treat, and love, and his story has faced me with fright, some doubts of which I had no sight, some circumstances for relational plight, but mend my ways, retrogression to a stage, a bubble bound by beauty itself, for I merely wish to live in a tale that is fair, one where I can simply stare, gaze at you and the stars the same, the beauty of which I can interchange, the limits of which I have no sight, give me my world back, my starry night.
