My first attempt at “Spoken Words”
I couldn’t really think of any specific poem I’d like to say out loud, so I ended up picking this one out as it was always meant to be said.
Opposites Attract
They told me Opposites attracted, but I said it couldn’t be true.
How could you find him attractive, if he wasn’t nothing at all like you?
If you were temperamental, and he was really sweet.
If you were easily won over, but he never accepted defeat.
If you kept trying to be positive, but he never looked at the brighter side.
It’s not possible to be attracted, to both halves of the tide.
Your music is your mantra, but he dislikes it so.
His music is his life, but you can’t tell where it will go.
You can’t stand the same films, can’t bear the same food.
How could you even stand him, it’s more improbable than good.
But then I somehow met, a stupid chance of fate.
We had so little in common, it turned into a debate.
Can one passion override instinct?
I’m not sure if it’s true.
But whatever it is that holds me here, I’m glad it’s with you.
Posts tagged relationship
the nightmares may be gone
from inside my head while i sleep
but every day that i wake up,i face nightmares.
In the wilderness I found you,
vines tightly grasping your neck and bones.
The unseen green ground, grey skies, and no moon or sun above.
The dark shone on the pale, naked flesh of your stomach, face, arms, legs. My legs took me forward, drawn to your pure essence.
Your back remained pressed to a tree which the vines that regretfully held you back, solemnly hung from.
The tips of my fingers reached out to touch you, but everytime I did, I could feel you push away,
unsure of whether to push your way through to reach me or forever remain in the lonely presence of your past.
Your eyes blindly reached mine, a light fog starting to drift over your blood stained lips.
They began to move, trying to speak words to comfort me; tell me everything you wanted to.
Fog’s fingers drifted over your words and kept you shut.
The only thing able to keep us together in the dark; the bells in the distance.
The dark wouldn’t win.
The chimes in the distance encouraged us to press through the seemingly difficult presence; they seemed to encourage life, though no life could be seen.
We existed through truth and trust and faith.
Possibilities became endless and our wilderness was soon a type of comfortable.
We were living.
We were life.
Boxed into the darkness, able to rely on simply sitting on the air above us.
I heard you. I heard you cry out to me, begging to make the chiming louder; to keep me closer through everything but touch.
It was all we could ever really do with no light to keep our minds safe.
My words would not satisfy what the chiming would and that was okay.
Even though I couldn’t touch you; feel you, you were there.
And that was okay.
Through nothing but the sounds of life could we continue to trust and love from a distance.
A distance so small yet so fortunately close.
We’d wait to see our life when the light would return, if ever.
Right now was all we needed to be able to breathe with the vines of separate trees gripping onto our throats and the fog covering our lips.
Our eyelashes
were rose petals
and we melted;
nose to nose,
smiling
all the while
I made my mistakes,
I could not care for you,
I think I was blind, to be so unkind,
Now I dream only of that; which I cannot undo.
But you see, mine is a small crime,
Whereas yours is obtuse,
The silence that killed
All we tried to build,
For this there is no excuse.
So in my mind,
I can’t help but think:
Was this death by design,
Or were you compelled by the divine?
Sweet assassin,
Dressed in pink
This evening, it stopped.
Dismantled.
Packed away for the winter.
The summer season’s customers
had paid too high a price for
commercial goods, like kerosene
and towers.
Remember how we tailored
the taste of the high-street
to match our platonic
conceptions of a romance?
On the news, I oft remembered
how they’d tried to
describe a recession, but
the white noise broke through.
I could’ve told them
We were already embracing
the aftershocks.
For once, the bribes weren’t high enough for the crowds.
Yet from under the paint peels,
something bitter still peeks at
the decomposing sky.
Something we’d forgotten,
Or thereabouts.
This evening, it stopped.
Dismantled.
Packed away for the winter.
The summer season’s customers
had paid too high a price for
commercial goods, like kerosene
and towers.
Remember how we tailored
the taste of the high-street
to match our platonic
conceptions of a romance?
On the news, I oft remembered
how they’d tried to
describe a recession, but
the white noise broke through.
I could’ve told them
We were already embracing
the aftershocks.
For once, the bribes weren’t high enough for the crowds.
Yet from under the paint peels,
something bitter still peeks at
the decomposing sky.
Something we’d forgotten,
Or thereabouts.
Ordinary footsteps upon a beach
linger by two smaller ones -
they trail far behind.
Venturing to the sea,
they both suddenly fade as
light cascades down
through broken-up clouds.
The bigger of the two is found again
though this time they are at a distance -
the little feet no longer run alongside
and have taken a path of their own,
as the shore extends it’s arm’s to the sky
only to fall. A footprint is found once again
with those little-ones close-by.
I kind of,
maybe a little,
sorda,
if I,
this is hard to
tell ya,
I might be,
well I dont know,
It seems that,
I cant,
well its just that,
this is so hard,
but Im beginning
to feel that…
Im falling in love with you!
there.
I said it.
