Posts Tagged ‘Romance’

Take me away,
Off into the sunset,
Skirting the ivory clouds,
And soaring above the azure carpets below,
Aboard a vessel of aeronautical freedom,

About to take off!

To see distant cities,
To rest on foreign sands and savannahs,
To lay eyes upon pagodas and itzas,
To bear witness,
To love and romance in alien tongues,

What a view!

Less a holiday,
And more a liberation,
Would you take me away?
I long to be elsewhere,
Or will I remain on the runway?

Wheeeee!

Despite my unseemly form,
Writhing with inadequacies,
I was once a romantic at heart,
A passionate bard,
Singing the praises of my loves,
Seeing the light in the dark,

But it wasn’t to last,
One night was a turntable,
You came to me,
A snide succubus,
A bloody mary,
Lashing flames of erotic venom,

You meant only ill,
Your words brought me a stinging sensation,
As if needles pierced my lips,
Sewing my mouth shut,
You rendered me mute,
Voiceless,

After that hellish night,
My tongue shall never again utter romance,
I speak only with these inked words,
I’d need a scalpel,
To return my joy,
A glasgow smile of sorts,

Truth be told though,
It’s not worth severing these threads.

My girl,
You have an inferno about your aura,
You’ve got bridges to burn,
Past errors and trysts to incinerate,
Memories for the pyre,

I watch you set your explosives,
A vessel for your reformation,
Full of rageful gunpowder,
Shrapnel of past insults,
Souls past are just collateral damage,

You look away,
Perhaps to shield your dewy eyes,
Or perhaps to dither,
Does the past still hold dominion?
Do you wish to wallow in it?

Ignite your charge,
Blow the bridge sky high,
Reduce it to ash and nothingness,
Consign it to antiquity,
You’re an engineer of your future now.

I’m a man of words,
But not of talking,
Not of tongues,
If I attempt it,
My throat gains an eerie rasp,

When I behold you,
I try to sweetly exalt,
The words in my mind,
Cradled in lilac and sugar,
Flying on wings of cherubs,

But the words inexplicably contort,
Into an unearthly sound of breath,
Of hellish design,
My tongue rebels,
A shrill auditory talent show,

I appear a banshee,
Spewing screams,
All nerves and sinew,
A nonsensical wheeze,
No longer angelic,

My eyes gaping,
Your answer so desirous,
Yet also apocalyptically alarming,
It could make me rasp,
It could kill me.

Somedays I long to be a contortionist,
A performer,
A sculptor of the body,
Creating the impossible with their form,
A Durvasa pose of my own,

Remold the rubber,
To rearrange oneself,
From this hideous thing,
Into an enticing object,
Improvement through pain,

Dislocate the flaws,
Reset the bones,
Loose joints of a broken soul,
Put this to there,
And that to over yonder,

Part of this cirque du soleil,
I’d be a human anew,
A macabre sculpture,
Something magnitudes more alluring,
But would I be myself?
Or just part of the troupe?

I was lost,
A doll in a gutter,
Drenched in rains of past errors,
Tracing misery with my claws,
I long for the clouds to part,
And they deftly acquiesce,

Angelic hands,
Lift me from the barbed wire,
An ascension of sorts,
Seraphic friends,
Who were strangers,
Only hours ago,

Devotees of literary thought,
Welcoming me to a Shangri-La,
A place of learning,
A party for the alphabet,
Giving toasts to poets afar,
And empaths are given standing ovations,

A carnivale,
Teeming with cracked souls,
Contorted into beautiful things,
Of myriad shape and colour,
Comrades of creativity,
A parade of poetry and paeons,

A reservation of friends,
With stout walls,
And staunch allies,
We dance together,
All of us,
In fields of each others majesty.

I’m a misfit,
I’m socially awkward,
Do you know how I can tell?
It’s not the facepaint,
Nor the inability to smile normally,
It’s a certain intangible strain,

A subtle yet leaden weight,
Upon my soul,
A sense of monachopsis,
The burden of not belonging,
I’m in a person suit,
The public are not my tribe,

I lumber through hostile streets,
As if waistdeep through syrup,
Incomparably out of place,
A slovenly ghoul,
A shade of grey,
Passing through hued crowds,

I long to return home,
Domestic safety,
A raft away from the societal sharks,
I can be fluidly myself,
A rainbow within,
Dancing with my thoughts,

Please don’t make me go outside,
I don’t belong there.

I wrote a love letter once,
Language coated in honey,
And red wine,
Words to be crafted into a paper plane,
And sent soaring to her heart,

Baring my soul,
Each word a passionate kiss,
Every line a bite of the lip,
A love story in graphite,
Soon to be an obituary,

Doubt clouts me from behind,
A lesion shaped like a broken heart,
The page laughs at me,
Mocking my naivete,
The eraser calls,

I excise them in a flurry,
Each syllable becoming a dismal mess,
The words become a distant regret,
Merely a trace of a love,
Retired to a waste bin of reluctance,

The feelings are now simply eraser debris,
And are brushed aside.

I sit here in this bountiful garden,
Passing the summer hours,
Gazing over the various arbors,
That stand guard at the perimeter,
In their viridian dress coats,

They are true fountains of life,
Green with envy,
At our freedom,
Though we should be jealous,
Of their eternal dignity,

The leaves,
They splay out in the sun,
Like angels wings,
With a more tangible divinity,
Laying bare mother nature’s selflessness,

The autumnal browns arrive,
The leaves succumb,
A vision of entropy,
But cast a blanket of rejuvenation,
For the thirsty earth,

The winds twist through the branches,
Imparting a sacred message,
For all of humanity,
Be as the leaves,
Love your earth.

I’m a nocturnal beast,
I adore the night,
I live for the night,
To gaze longingly at her lightless form,
The comely orb of the moon,

To many the night is chilling,
But to me it is solace,
A zen-like plane of existence,
What is anathema to some,
Is sedative to my soul,

With Lady Luna,
And the beautiful dark,
Elegantly coming together,
In a wondrous fantasia,
Of light and shadow,

We practice our waltz nightly,
Within a ballroom of stars,
Completely alone,
Embracing,
But only in my minds eye,

To many the night is frightful,
But to me it is eden.