(2013)
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
Autumn sneaks in preceding dormancy Leaves take on new beauty with nothing left in them but a fa… Individually insignificant
I wrote this while thinking of you so I guess you could say this poem is eight years in the making
If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing
I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back
I’ve kept my eyes closed most of these past eighteen years because I find it just as dark
Loving you was never sweet like the taste of vanilla the way I thought it was supposed to be It was more like
My heart was paper now folded six times over to make it harder to tear I only hope that
I have whispered your name into the air so many times it has become the breeze that blows
There seems to be a drought in my… but who knows if it is the cause or the result of the war raging within me
Just when I get back on my feet you pass on by and I lose my footing Again
I know that you were there in my dreams and in my arms Every dream we
To put it simply each beat of your heart is a gift that I receive with the anticipation of a child at christmas
If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains
I see no joyous rebirth in spring for autumn will bring another death I see no joyous rebirth