Category Archives: Poetry

The stars above

To the infinity of space, and she looks out through the glass wondering what she is. She is who she is, but what is she?
Introspection in space, the vacuum without mimics the vacuum within.

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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.

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?