Phrases with little meaning otherwise
grace the empty pages of a notebook
meant to contain the answer to
a tactility you can’t quite pin down.
Each word restrictedly represents
just one segment of the overall image
that you try to construct using your soul
as the palette and your hand as the brush.
What then does the colour of your eyes
contribute as you splash their pigment
onto factions of letters arbitrarily
arranged but perfectly crafted?
Blood leaves your heart and travels
through your body to find its destination,
ultimately in the tips of your fingers
to travel through mine
and onto the page as ink.
I had a dream the other night
evidently meant to provide some insight,
even light, on this fight between self and I.
We fly through vines of green that glisten
with tear drops shed each time my heart breaks
We stare into the light from the yellow sun
to see how long repression takes
We kiss to heal the wounds
I’ve felt for way too long
A warm embrace between us
to discover what really is right or wrong
But all along, what’s going on seems simply
a mere fabrication of a dedicated romantic’s mind
But that’s a lie, I’m really waiting for a sign
from you, it seems, your eyes do gleam
like happiness I’ve never seen
At least happiness it what it seems to be
but for me to recognize and see
I would have to have been in love
or so it seems.
It’s raining bullets out my window
A sea of shells are on the ground
It may be fatal when the wind blows
But you and I are safe in sound
Why didn’t I wake up next to you today?
Sun’s rays overshadowed by a silent face
Your eyes closed, your mind engaged
Eyelids fluttering while in a distant place
I’d kiss your hand soft enough not to wake
But just close enough to get a taste
Of the nectarous flavour I crave all day
And long for every time you’re away
A cat curled up in the curves of your leg
I’d watch as you slowly found your way
From a world of dreams to a room so grey
Though not for long do the colours stay
Locked inside your eyes and away from me
As your body twitches and you start to see
Maybe just a bit but not so clearly
That my dreams have already come to be ❤
Ever since the day we met
my heart I’ve felt it has been set
upon a girl whose eyes glow deep
and shows a love that seems to seep
inside my wounds and heal the scars
that your love has turned to stars
two souls become one as we connect
two lives that only each can affect
a promise sealed with just one kiss
you’re right here but still I miss
that taste of your lips, smell of your skin
make me wonder where you’ve been
all my life ’cause it’s not fair
that no one else has ever cared
the way you do about me now
I couldn’t bare for you to drown
into the depths of sorrow’s grip
but still I feel that you could slip
away from me ’cause I’m just scared
of violent winds I’ve braved and faired
all my life I’ve waited for bliss
my mind set straight to reminisce
I’ve loved you before I even set eyes
upon your soul sent down from skies
that promised me some hope one day
there was never anything I could do or say
to rush you here, today, with me
the kindred souls we’ve come to be
this life I’ve led has changed so much
the agony has been as such
to make me glad I’ve been so sad
’cause in my heart, you’re the only love I’ve had.
My old friend Noah Gano has released a photo-illustrated poetry collection which I’ve found to be quite good. Noah is an up and coming Toronto artist with immense talent and if you have the time I’d recommend checking out this recent project to discover more about what he does. To donate and download, please visit www.NoahGano.com and follow the on-screen instructions.
Thanks – DSF
I let out a laugh reserved only for the truly insane when she told me that I’d thank her one day. The look on my face was not just one of those nervous expressions but the kind that you’d normally see on the face of someone who had just caught a sharp glimpse of his detached self in the mirror and realized he’d never be quite the same; he probably never was what he thought anyways. The feeling of being in the same body, in the same place and with the same person but with the circumstances completely changed made it a difficult concept to consider. How could I have dodged a bullet when it feels like it made direct contact to the center-left of my chest, the blood emptying itself as quick as the time had gone by? At that moment I thought that she was just saying anything it took to make herself feel better about extracting me with expert precision from her life. The words, though meant as some type of consolation, didn’t mean much coming from someone who had spent the last year building a new castle to be the queen of while I was left cleaning up the remnants of a failed kingdom.
Days became weeks and then grew into months while the sting set in and I plotted the day when I would be able to tell her truthfully with a catalog of evidence that she was wrong. My notes, bound inside a special part of my brain reserved for hurt which seemed to grow exponentially over the years, were clear and well documented. My life was over I thought, as if I had died a premature death but still walked the streets as a ghost so as to eternally experience the life I was supposed to live with a substitute for me walking in my shoes. What a sight it was inside my head to imagine perpetually viewing a screen of heartbreak which would seemingly never end. The winds of thought ramped up to hundred kilometre per hour pitch and I was the only one blowing away into the distance. You see, everyone else had the weight of life inside of them and my soul had once escaped and never came back home. I didn’t even know it was missing until it was almost too late but when I realized it there wasn’t much of an instinct to go look for it.
A jasmine yellow star shone down one day just before it was too late and a path illuminated by effervescent dreams was created before my eyes. I wasn’t sure where it was to lead me but a fallen angel in the sky gave me the push I needed to start my journey at once. Along that path, lined with purple grass and green flowers, I saw that nothing had to be the way I thought it did. Even the sky was red while my blood had turned blue instead. In a world where thoughts had tangible weight, my soul seemed to slowly return with the ability to nourish itself carefully and correctly. The past became a distant memory that shaped the future and the guiding blue light to match the liquid life running through my veins was all that was needed to reassure me that my story was not over and it had likely just begun.
After all, she was right and I thanked her with a silent message transmitted through a time warp that I could finally close in favour of one anew.
It’s like I can’t breathe but in a good way. As if you’ve hugged the air out of me and nobody can replenish it but you. It’s been years since I’ve felt anything of the sort but maybe I’ve never even felt it at all before. You and me, we’re one and the same but I’m conflicted on whether to follow the palpitations of my heart or the direction of the sun. The sun will always rise and set but one day my heart will cease to pump and these very facts make it difficult to decide whether igniting this entire world with the use of your light and a magnifying glass is worth the feeling of love again. I’m willing to bet it is.
To this day, it is still incredible to me how an album, a song, a melody, a note, even just the essence of a tune can completely transport you back to a feeling, a place, a time, even to a person different than the one you are now. Today I’ve been driving through country fields on the way to Collingwood, living a life left behind, by way of a voice made of silk over an electronic piano. I’ve been driving just feet from the emerald ocean in Florida with nothing but sand dunes and long grass. Alone on a plane with every hope and dream within my grasp. Lost in thought driving home in the dark with nothing left but bass and the tone of an angel. Just for a second you can actually be in that place, however pleasant or dark it was, and for some reason it doesn’t make you feel loss for the time passed and memories discarded due to the sound that envelops your soul. The music is the comfort, the buffer, to the imagery you suppress in your mind. You can reach out and hold it just for a moment without it consuming you, with a trumpet and a synthesizer as your only company, and that’s okay with me.
There isn’t much to say about the death of a love that was probably never born in the first place. So why do the related feelings resemble such a state of mourning? Being inconsequentially discarded, crushing imaginary dreams, replaying wholly realistic videos of the static between two pieces of flesh is just a normal part of remembering something that never happened, is it not? A terrible book you once read, a frightening film that kept you from sleeping, you remember the key characters and their story but it’s hard to place yourself as the protagonist and maybe that makes it better because you couldn’t bare to be that person. What’s interesting is when that story comes to a tragic conclusion reminiscent of a rejected Shakespeare ending, too gruesome and hurtful to be fiction, your reality becomes the exact opposite. Now you’re the “other.” You’re the one with the power to control your destiny, and maybe that won’t be so nice to someone else. Be the one who doesn’t care. The one who consumes people like an indiscriminate virus. That thing that keeps others up at night. Who are you kidding, you couldn’t be that person if you tried.