Poetry

I'm sorry, dreams of mine,

For letting you drift like lofty clouds

Like inconsequence in a weightless shroud.

Your ambitions that I've sold,

Your stories left untold.

You whisper to me, this is how it goes:

"We seeds you'll never sow, become

Great trees you'll never grow, into a

Forest you'll never see, bearing

Fruits you'll never reap.

Your hourglass is leaking sand,

Why didn't you play your hand?

This game was yours, now wasted.

Oh, you had pocket aces!

So when Judgement crooks its finger,

Will you look back and see?

Ghosts of the past that linger:

Your idle dreams - mere memory."

Effervescent, ethereal,

Made of see-through material.

Why do you feel so real?

I know you're following me,

Don't know if I should flee.

Do I want to be free?

Better to have you off my mind,

Though, your shape is not unkind.

Will you leave me behind?

Oh, this feels like a sin,

But I want to see you again.

Could you be my friend?

And I--your willing host,

For, once, we shared the most

My darling little ghost.

I do not aspire

To undo 1569 days.

But I would be a liar, to say

That grief lives not in Hayes.

Tender is the heart still yearning,

Tender is the sorrow,

Tender is the fire burning,

Tender, too, tomorrow.

A million lights

Twinkle gently at me,

Beneath the still pond,

Above the palm trees.

I pluck at the stars

From under the water:

Sing lullabies on Mars,

Dance on rings of Saturn.

I fill my pockets with galaxies,

Ponder at possibilities:

A million sights I yearn to see,

A million nights of vague memories.

But the ripples on the surface

Betray my starlit lie:

I gaze at reflections,

And dream of the endless sky.

A fly falls into a spider's web,

Though it's been there once before.

And despite the mortal consequence,

It knows it'll be there once more.

To sip sweet venom of the spider's bite,

And cocoon in its silken embrace.

A creeping dependence takes silent flight-

Drunk on that toxic taste.

Euphoric arachnophilia,

Seduction and enigma.

Will this be memorabilia?

Or traumatic anathema?

A fly falls into a spider's weave

To perish as its kin before.

And once it's gone, the spider takes leave

To ensnare a fly once more.

Same black hair but different style

Same brown eyes and toothy smile

The stars themselves must have conspired

To bring us here after all this while

Same free laughter, softer voice

Same old feeling of rejoice

Were we guided here by chance,

Or did we come here by choice?

Is it wrong to question why

What happened, then, to you and I?

Two hearts sang two different tunes.

Was it foolish how we tried?

But people change, I know it's true

Shall we share how we've both grown too?

A decade long has seemed to fly

Will once again we say goodbye?

Does the puddle know of the ocean?

Does the raindrop dream of the flood?

Does the bound moon envy the motion

Of the celestial bodies above?

Does the fish grow weary of water?

Does the bird seek refuge from the sky?

Does the mind and heart know sonder

Or a tornado from a butterfly?

Trapped by naught, lofty thoughts.

Oh what am I waiting for?

Liberation can't be bought -

Prison is an open door.

Veins of hope all fill with clots;

And fear leaves my soul poor.

Ghosts of what I never sought,

Prison is an open door.

Waxen wings attempt to soar

In search of something more.

Beloved shackles I cherish so,

They chain me to the floor,

Would that I could leave and go,

Discard the chains I wore

Staying here is death I know - oh

Prison is an open door.