Creative

There’s this secret I must confess,
It’s about love never the less.

When I think about him,
I feel my heart beating out of my chest.

The lights always go dim,
There’s no love like this, it is the best.

When I see him, I lose my breath,
I really do love him to death.

Her strawberry blonde hair had now turned dark and tangled.
Her skin once solid porcelain was now a spongy ivory,
tainted, from the bursts of hatred and pain, inflicted on her skin.
The color of her lips is of the Dog Rose enchantress
and the texture resembles the Sea-Spurry that creep along the shore.
However these lips have morphed into the dust of an abandoned church
and the texture of the broken glass.

A stone church decorated with flowers
and sprinkled
with the petals of happiness
glitters on a windy hill
over looking the blue crystal clear waves
crashing into the torturous rocks,
Laughter hugs the sparkling
liquid
Feet kiss the sand as the newlyweds dance.
Nothing could seem more perfect
This happy moment can fool any mortal.
Fool them into believing this mortal moment might be eternal.

A faint voice
torn and dissected
vibrates the small room
“Water……….food………. help me.”

On a snowy night
out on our hill
the wind whipping at my back.
In the moonlight
you are glowing besides me.
My own personal mirage of love.
The warmth I imagine surrounds us
and my shivering subsides.
The largest of the flakes twinkle like stars.
My face is painfully captured in the same expression.
Trees are groaning behind me
and I feel my body swaying with them.
On and on the groaning continues.
This chorus of agony drowns out the earth below.

I feel like I’m floating.

The warmth is subsiding and I feel myself growing tired.
My body feels submerged.
I allow myself to sink back onto the constellations.
The impact feels soft,
like a newborn baby’s blanket.

How ironic.

The flakes flood my lashes
and I close my eyes,
awakened only by the sound of tires on pavement.

You’ve finally come to join my escape.

I thought I did something right,
until we had a fight.

I thought everything would be fine,
and that someday he would be mine.

He is really pissed,
sure he will be missed.

But that’s the way life goes,
now I am full of worries and woes.

Will our relationship ever be the same?
Now that he blew out my internal flame?

When we were friends I was like wow!
What am I going to do now?

I want to again have some fun,
please forgive me for what I have done.

She walks a dark lonely street
Her breath as visible as her white jacket
Her hands are crossed and her pace is quick
Small white cords lay off her shoulder
A street light passes above her
It giving detail to her
Her dark brown hair, light green eyes, and her pale complexion
Her Blue shoes leave small impressions in the snow
Her black jeans make a void in the snow
She disappears from the light
Light snow starts to fall
Making her image in to darkness only more ominous
The world seems silent till a car passes
Giving her light for a brief second
You can see that she is shivering from the cold
The snow falls off as her body quakes

I start my car
I turn my head lights on
I edge forward and start to pick up speed
I am going 45 before I hit
The window cracks I can see blood

I set about writing a poem
not for you, but to you.
It was all about us and my feelings
and those nights in your car,
or that time under the bridge,
listening to waves splash and cars go by
underneath the twinkling stars, just before dawn.
Then I crunpled it up and threw it away.

And I started a new poem.
This one was mature, more sophisticated than the last.
I used big words and long words,
and filled the page up with philosophy
and regret.
So I tore up that paper and chucked it
with the other.
What a perfect pair.

Then I took out a marker - blue sharpie - your favorite,
and I wrote on the walls a new poem.
This one was angry and sweet,
dripping with sincerity.
It was pathetic,
it was short,
but it was us.
This one wasn’t about the bridge,
or your car.
Not the park,
or the mall,
but the theatre.
This poem was the moment when I put my head on your body,
and we were happy.
The moment when I squeezed your hand,
and let my tears fall,

Gradually, on the way up the stairs, the young man who had walked in the front door (something he almost never did) transformed into the woman who ended up on the second floor foyer. This took a little bit of time; she unbuttoned her top button, unhooked her binders and slid them into her bag as she walked, untied her hair and let it fall in loose, snow-covered brown locks to her sides.

Her eyes sparkled as she walked up.

It wasn't home, but it was getting to be comfortable.

She had no corset and was dressed in a man's coat and a man's top and a man's trousers, and her boots clunked in an unladylike noisy fashion, and the previously mentioned snow started falling to the floor. Distracted by the light catching it, she turned, overbalanced and nearly crashed right into the unfortunate, startled manservant.

Snow is the white stuff.
That softly falling to the ground
It makes everything white and alive.
It covers the dead, looking trees.
To make them beautiful again.
Even if it’s just for a day or two
Although it does make a mess
Out on the roads.
And on the sidewalks
But that is just until
The salts starts to work.
But still.
It’s better than the slippery ice.