(2014)
I wish you had told me that on the good days kissing you would make me think that I knew what happiness was and on the bad days
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
There is poetry in nature better left to be spoken wordlessly by the breeze
Hope in another form but no fewer letters and I’ve been hoping for these past eight years so I’ll just keep on
I’ll keep searching for the meaning of life and I hope I find it as crumpled paper nearish a trash can
I get my silence in five minute doses before the plane overhead brings me back to earth
If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
I spend my nights wishing on every star in the sky that you are alive and well
It must be a wednesday or a friday or any day at all for I am painfully aware of the wo… that consumes me
I see poems that need to be written scrawled in the shape of your smile and the lines of your face
I’ve kept my eyes closed most of these past eighteen years because I find it just as dark
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
I see no joyous rebirth in spring for autumn will bring another death I see no joyous rebirth
I have whispered your name into the air so many times it has become the breeze that blows
