Category Archives: Poetry

The red beard

I sit and think about your red beard,
I think about the light reflecting on your red beard,
I think about what words I could write that would match your red beard,
All this I think and I come up with nothing.
Nothing at all.

Then I think of you,
And I think of me,
And I think about your laughter in bed,
All these are my thoughts but still . . .
Nothing about your red beard. Nothing at all.

Then I think about your lopsided smile,
And I think about you pouring me coffee in a Japanese cup,
And I think about eating carrots and celery from your plate,
And all these thoughts about food and drink but not about beard,
Nothing at all.

Nothing about your lovely, scratchy (yeah, sorry I didn’t tell you before) and oddly red beard.

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Within

The darkness follows the sorrow and the pain fills the emptiness within,
The emptiness that loves gives, the emptiness that loves creates,
The creation of a beating heart, a soul alight, a touch, a look, a moonlight beam.
Fleeting, ethereal, paranoid.
The pain soaks you, follows you, becomes your companion,
Endless companionship of emptiness and loneliness.
Such is love.

In my mind

He lives in my mind, the pain lives here too.
Every good and bad memory, every soft touch and every harsh word.
He lives within time, still and fluid, clear and  . . . not so clear.
He makes me cry, he makes me sigh, he makes me dream.
Dreams that turn into nightmares.
He lives in my waking time, he lives in my sleep, he lives in the empty space next to me.
He is trapped in my mind and I am trapped here too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fantasies

Dream of my dreams, if only you could come true,

But what battlefield would life be if that was true?

If happiness was real, if at peace were my heart?

No manner of life would that be, unknown to me,

Always searching, never finding,

Contentment is what I find,

And never the happiness I seek.

The journey would have no purpose if happines was within my grasp,

What else is there to live for than the journey?

To be free of me

What emptiness the end of love brings,

After the pain, although it was much less than expected,

The hours upon hours of leisure thinking when all the love is done,

There is no thinking of him, there is no missing him, there is no him,

Try as I may to think of him I cannot,

I cannot any more than to think I am not thinking of him,

Nothing more.

Nothing more to do, nothing more to miss, nothing more to suffer,

I am not with him, nor waiting to be with him, nor have I just been with him,

There is no more him,

Now whole days are open to me, what to do with my time?

I have no need to wait for his text, there will be none,

I am liberated from the wait and it is surpringsly pleasant,

I do love him and I am free of him,

A prison I created with my love for him,

I created it and closed myself in it,

A prision? Yes, but I was willing,

Willing, not now. 

I don’t feel the loss, maybe layer,

Later I will cry or throw myself of a cliff,

Although there are no cliffs here,

What to do until then?

Until the emptiness kills me,

While I live my life in the pleasant emptiness of his absence?

To love him and  . . . Be in happiness without him,

Seems a betrayal,

To him most of all,

To love him and not to miss him,

To love him and not want him,

To love him and be free of him,

To love him and let him be free of me.