when the call comes time stands down knees buckle wind escapes the very breath I needed to speak. a cry from within – within me – it shocks, shocks the very core of my being, a result everyone warned me of feeling deep inside, but then regret: the regret of putting off everything I should have said when it still mattered. the searching begins the desire for proof – proof we existed together in this world making the memories we shared valid, meaningful and somehow important. but then the awareness arrives, becoming fully aware eyes wide open, there is nothing here to prove our connection; my love. lacking tangible evidence of a bond created out of a deep need to feel a part of something I lacked, is the torture I, until today, didn’t realize I would be living with now forever.
focused amongst darkness, blind to a last chance and determined to count regrets. cherish, even the ending, with the promise to never forget, light sparks as it is extinguished and her heart flutters, yes.
dreams surround a homesteading such as this, no amount of work could persuade them to leave. his heart was given so long ago, and the farm has held on ever since.
the birds sang quite rightly the day she pulled in, the tire was giving her fits. when he took his cap off and extended his hand, his eyes caused hers to lift, amused by the pink shade of shy she wore with her smile, he let off on his farmer’s tight grip.
hard became harder as sunsets created do-overs, and laughter filled the crisp winter air. facts remained, but pleasure pursued as two strangers became one another, encouraging life to come tumbling after.
glows does the moon beyond the branches, which held verdant prisms of summertime, rich with thoughts of what could be come daylight.
a star just to the north points towards a path I’m unsure of but regrettably stare into, the cold air touches the tears I shed for the prayers I’ve said, nothing makes sense as the fairytale ends.
night, oh night, you shout at me so, what shall come of my young soul; trapped in a body at the peak of her age clouds bustle by, such hurry I ponder what awaits just past the horizon of a foolish wish, held back by this garden gate.
with a harvest so plentiful, why is there no joy with billows of copper creams within the sky, why do I fear tomorrow with air as crisp as heirloom apples, why isn’t laughter around us with Autumn expressing herself just so, why am I alone with a voice shaking towards the bluest of sky, why, oh why, can’t I fly.
Our minds are consumed with a legion of details. Where to begin deemed obvious by most, if you could feel the pulse; a quickened heartbeat, you’d know there’s no recovery. We’re past all that, bits too forgone to consider, the beauty lies, quite perfectly just beyond and your hands belong there.