A multi-flaceted mirror meets a single looking glass.
She drives herself crazy trying to analyze each of his reflections.
He thinks he’s seen all of her, but never peered beneath the surface.
musing
I Believe
More than any other color, I believe in blue
The widest outstretched arms I’ve ever seen above and below the moon
In bright pastel or tempest grey, she always builds a day anew
With hope of sun or fear of pouring rain, my prayers may still come true
If I were to pick a religion, I believe it would be you
You, the watcher who hides away and watches from a brighter view
The invisible smile of a stranger that I picture in my dreams
I ponder on how you’ll never know how much your unseen smile means to me
More than any time, I believe in midnight
The one second on the clock that an erroneous day is blown away
A flitter of hope in a shivering heart beat leaps awake
Ready to make right this fresh new day
Yes, I believe in this the way I believe in virgin snow
That quietly covers our footsteps and holds our secret close
She wistfully shifts around our frozen trails
And slows the time just enough for us to observe the small details
I suppose it’s hard to not believe in God;
Who else can I find to blame the hardships of life on?
Or where do my prayers go after they fall as weary tears?
What idol can I rely on to placate all of my fears?
But no one can reply to all of the questions, all of the demands
They fall back into the frail fingers of my tired hands
So I believe in magic, the magic that makes up time
Who meticulously grooms the sea and the sky
Patiently healing wounds and removing the iron ball and chain
So the hope in my heart can finally fly.
Messages You Will Never Read
I’m only sometimes sober when I write you messages you’ll never read;
Silly thoughts and forbidden words that bring me solace you’ll never see
I hide away from terrifying truths for fear of what you’ll think of me
I lie to you, and to myself too – the truth is such an ugly thing
I wear a mask of several layers, just in case you can see through
I wander round earth’s many corners just to stay away from you
And still I circumnavigate the globe to watch you from afar
I’ve known you only in concept; I have no idea who you are
Like religion, I see you only how I would need you to be
But you’re more of a demon than an angel in reality
But that doesn’t discourage me from heathen thoughts or sorcery
I’m closer to hell than heaven, and all you’ve done is encourage me
But not enough, not quite enough to send these messages you’ll never read.
Malingering
I tip toe over broken glass with the same meticulous pace that I distance myself from a broken heart.
One and one don’t always align, and I fear the sound of shattering from a pair mismatched. Like magnets, only the opposite sides attract, but when pulled apart, a bit of myself leaves with you each time.
Under planetary bodies, rising sun and waning moon are no match for the tides that move me pensively in your direction. Were you any more poisonous, I surely still would long for just the slightest taste and suffer the lasting bitterness.
The home of your arms is lined with brambles so shallow they only pierce my skin. Alas, my buoyant heart rests at my surface to bask in the heat in your eyes – vulnerable for those thorns to pierce.
With closed eyes I meander around sharp debris, heart still aching, hoping that things will change. The scars haven’t faded, the pieces of me have not regenerated, and though in my latent pace I hope you return to me, I know that I’m shamefully malingering.
Just a Bunch of Words or Phrases in no Particular Order.
Precious silver succumbs to rust and crumbles to dust
In the palm of my hand, I remember what it used to be and I miss your touch
Life stages change over incremental ages
The awkward sprouting of a tree on the face of a mountainside
Lost and humbled, my strong façade has crumbled
I never knew that I needed you this much
Excuses and silly reasons, lies and treason
Back and forth within our own minds all of the time
I speak for myself, and for everyone else
Who has ever had drunken words occupy a sober mind
Can you empathize? Sympathize?
Anything to seem more kind?
I think of you, I dream of you
I hate you and I miss you at the same time
I wonder who really holds my heart?
The thought of being loved, I know
But the moment you embody hope
You become the one I need to hold
Nicotine and liquor make long nights go by quicker
And my patience that had run so thin can run a tad bit thicker
My weakness is my weakness for glimmering eyes and seductive smiles
And for a glimpse at a lustful gaze, I’d travel for many miles
But I won’t malinger on my pen, I’ve exhausted malformed sentences
I had no reason to write this, but I suppose if I was sober
I’d say the same thing in less words –
And also, in less honesty.
My Best Dress
Is jet black, velvet and to the floor
Your eyes ache for a little more
My silhouette saves you from a bore
My neck and hem decorated with lace
For one like you who loves a chase
But your eyes are drawn right to my face
My eyes, my smirk, my mocking
Only exacerbate your craze
It was no mistake.
My Theology.
I believe in an attentive ear that seeks the somber sound of crying in a dark and sightless night. The truth in hearing and believing a life beyond one’s own beating heart is a religion of its own. If faith is mandatory, I’d rather believe in the pensive mind that yearns for justice; a law not written by man, but inherited millennia ago from the sky.
As you believe in God, I believe in a love for life so strong that no small flower be set to a flame. My deity is the beauty of an unkempt green valley, and the dandelion seeds that form clouds upon the horizon in a hot summer gust. As you believe in angels, I believe in the mindless creatures that roam the world with hope in their hearts of falling in love – those silly things are so romantic, they brim with more hope than could ever be discovered in a mine filled with diamonds.
Your belief in heaven is comparable to my belief of a sunny afternoon under a pale blue sky, somewhere far away from the city where I can hear the cicadas and the bullfrogs. There are no gates here, just a noisy silence that raptures me in a way that no psalm ever has. I can read catharsis from the cumulus clouds, or hear a chorus in the little things that live in the loam. What we have in common? We both call our heaven our home.
But what about hell? Well, I don’t believe that exists as long as there is another day. For there are days, nights, weeks and months that I lie awake with teary eyes. There are days that I wish I could simply stop my heart-beat on demand. The heat under my skin is comparable to the literature that describes the underworld, I suppose, when I feel this insatiable need for something, for anything to bring a chill to my fiery anger, or my branding sorrow.
Although I know that it won’t be for ever. Each time I watch the clock, and the arrow hits one minute prior midnight, I know that shortly there will be another day. As the seasons shift their way around the cyclical conundrum that life is made of, one spring day I’ll see my deity, one summer day I’ll fill my heart with hope.
Even in the season of the dead things, the fallen leaves remind me of the hearth of a cozy home. Though I may brood alone, I know that 11:59 is the truest worship time. Idle and fatigued I bide the time, the sixty seconds that always drags my atheist heart out and gives it a moment to practice religion – one second at a time.
