She doesn’t know that I have seen her scars and
I have spent sleepless nights wondering how she got them.
More than a road map to pain, her blue eyes hide the tears they say
And there will never come a day where I can ask about them.
Her world is upside down, and he is there beside her.
All Of her restless nights, he sings sleepily to her.
I can’t tell if she’s still cold, I watch outside of this window,
She’s upside down, does she know, that I will wait for her?
There is no secret why she always wears her long sleeves
They all know and look away, all of them but me.
We both have the same scars, I know their roots may be different,
It’s been a long time since we could be called innocent.
Maybe one day she’ll see me and maybe one day she won’t.
Just maybe she’ll see how each of us, were broke.
Posted in Life (or something like it)
Tagged broke, cold, innocent, know, pain, poem, poetry, scar, she, sleepless, sleeves, wait, window
She is awoken by voices,
She is alone.
In a strange place
She calls home.
Echoing off the walls,
In the midst of silence found,
They who have no name,
Each of their words resound.
She hates the silence,
It’s when they are so loud.
Whatever noise she can make
To ward off absent sound.
There is a voice she fears above most,
The one who, from the silence, boasts.
She hates his persistence.
She is insistent that he leave.
She fails and fails and fails again.
Any other voice from the din!
The many shout at her,
She does not give in.
But the one quietly calls,
From behind a door that’s cracked open
When the others leave.
He calls to her, her fears.
Things forgotten from across the years,
And then she remembers why
They were pushed aside.
Then in her heart
She deeply wishes the voices to depart.
And she hears
So softly in her ear,
“You will believe us absent, asleep,
You will rejoice in your soul deep.
You will forget what I tell you now
And you will remember each time we return our sound
You, in your fear, may not belong,
And we will never truly be gone.”
She closed her eyes,
And awoke alone; or so she was told.
She rose to the window,
And thought the sun too bright to be this cold.
Posted in From the shadows
Tagged alone, awoke, bright, cold, echo, fear, forget, gone, hate, home, loud, place, poem, poetry, remember, resound, silence, sleep, soul, sun, voice, window, words
From my tiny window, I
Gaze outward towards the sky.
Looking at the gathering black,
And wonder, does it ever gaze back?
The blackened night, the moon and stars,
I ask them questions from afar,
And behind my window I’m concerned;
Do they ever whisper in return?
Looking into anothers eyes
What is there for me to spy?
A window to the soul unclear,
Stained glass and clouded tears.
What then lies beneath? Who knows?
Something from the darkness shows,
And I’m a light at the end of a path.
Clearing the way for something that can’t?
Two steps forward and one step back.
What matters is the one that lasts.
Gentle cold flowing.
Open window grants passage.
Early morning breeze.