Here’s one about a certain terrible habit of mine that has been becoming a recurring nuisance…one that I can easily shed, but have yet to prove myself of being able to.
Most of my poems are very similar: they tend to draw on short, incomplete sentences and phrases that represent a current feeling or thought. They don’t often directly tie together and I think that’s the point. For me, its a sense experience in writing. For this poem, I think that’s going to be very important.
Shades of grey
Then, like an afterthought,
the colours return.
Flicker Flicker,
hazed and confused.
It’s something unlike the natural,
It’s something lost and unreal.
Ghosts and shadows, what everyone is.
I stumble step,
Is it like learning to walk?
What if I had no legs?
My thoughts drift.
The din is deafening,
But at the same time
I cannot hear their sounds.
Shadows shadows, filtered words.
I fall and struggle,
Something so basic,
But unbearable at all ends.
Sensing her face, lost in the haze
Details I cannot see,
But I feel them, I feel them.
The words do not come,
When do they ever?
Gone and lost
Memory senses like blurs,
I know it, I know it
I just cannot hold it.
But the smiles I see,
Even through the mist,
The smiles, I see,
They lead to a kiss.
The ghosts
They are like me,
They are lost, unfounded.
They are weak,
They are wild.
But there is no fear,
These shadows wander,
For they are ghosts.
At the end of it all,
Relations are gone.
Hopes that I had,
Now altered circumstances,
Is it who I want to be?
Is it what I want to do?
The rapture comes,
It is only her.
Collapse and tumbled,
The curtain slowly lifts,
Her eyes, they are beads.
Her skin, pure silk.
Intertwined yet unengaged,
Weary hearts,
They go no further.
Bounded and bounded.
My faded memory,
My stumbled steps,
It all accounts for nil.
But it is the touch,
It is the touch.
All else might be lost,
All else a shadow,
But it is like a beacon in the mist.
when her skin was on mine.
