Room


My fingernails are dirty but I don’t do any work, my mind just sits and measures the distance between a falling star and you and whether or not wishes come true and if so why do we bruise with these miles growing stronger, will they make us falter or are our steps as strong as the bond of our song, are our souls convinced we could do no wrong in taking a hand but taking a stand farther than the one beside the reason we long for peaceful days where distance is a room and not a rumour for failure. 

A Plea

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Please don’t leave me
with these broken questions
that you brought in
with the moon.
Let me see the stars
once more and hear
the sea renew.
My heart is turning
with hope of life
and the possiblity
of you.
Please don’t leave me
with these broken questions,
I won’t survive the loss
so soon.

January 24

img_0622-2Everything seems dark
when the skies
sleep in grey
and wake in
the same state,
when green
is a memory
or maybe a
figment of
imagination
you wish you
could hold on to.
But everything is
alive underneath
the fog waiting
for its time
to be seen
but life does
not grow without a pause

to make room
for the things
unplanned

Aftermath

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Life isn’t poetry
and poetry isn’t real,
so why do these words
make me feel
more than a minute of
questioning the quiet that
comes after I finish
reading of riots and
all the hopeless trees out
there shedding their leaves
without a care;
Why can’t we rid our minds
of red and grow new leaves
in their stead
of colours yet unknown to
ourselves and a future
worth keeping on a shelf
not to neglect but to show off
to the eyes that will come
long after our own are gone