If I give in
If I back down
In a memory
Ride together again
Old and gone
How could I ask
Forget me then
Sweeping mountain top
As a visitor
Pages torn away
Have I become a status update?
Words that have no meaning
In the tangible domain
An ego swelling at the possibilities
Inflation at our fingertips,
Choices in our heart.
Have I lost the moonlight
Amidst my electric glow?
My own thoughts displaced
By wings of a glossy angel.
And here I go,
Turning the page for more
Settling in for warmth
With my heart emoticon.
On the note that I wrote
I said I wasn’t able to grow
It had two long names
I’m not about to repeat
But at the end of the letter
I had two last words
That never came out
Because I had become afraid of you
And then I left unheard
With a broom in my hand
Sweeping up each piece
That shattered as I wept
About the loss of a book
Written two pages at a time
As if it knew it’s turn
And I shall not return
For I have a note in my pocket.
I never wanted to fall apart like this
Leaving pages bent and pencils broken
My back pages are written upside down
And my back pockets are filled with memories
That keep reminding me I’ve gone away.
Rusty backstops echo number five
From a once was now gone away
And we might send a letter
To remind you we’re far from you are home.
I close my eyes and wind lays your whispers
Upon my hardly kempt whiskers
With leaves blowing too early now
For autumn to be upon us,
Yet every breath I hear coming towards me
Leaves traces of my sadness
Rolling along to the tune of the trans-Canada
Like coyotes howling in the night
Reminding me you’re far away.
But I don’t want to say goodnight
I don’t want to wipe the tears
That cool my evening breeze,
I want to take back my endings
I never meant to write down
In a love poem I never meant to send,
No, I want to listen to the stars
Until connection has been made
And my back pockets hold bits of paper
Your pencils wrote to me.
I marked my diary with a black heart yesterday,
Signalling yet another loss of a piece of me
To a lancet, delicately embraced by a cadaverous hand
Tightly hemmed in mourning lace.
Upon my wrinkly pages I wrote of lament so thick
Leaves dropped freely in my eerie breeze,
And my nigh filled dipping pen
Opulently embarking upon saintly rites
Deep into the cold moon’s full embrace,
For this unsettled heart beat thick.
I cannot grasp what it will mean to send you off again,
What it will mean to let you go;
Finger tips to finger tips and not looking back
And hearing the roar of big jet planes
Overcome my trembling heart
That fleeting moments have left disoriented,
Direction home now jumbled and unrecognizable
Like the clouds you’ll soon be looking down upon.
I cannot find solace in a text to voice ratio,
In a line to line heartbeat filled of stories from afar.
But I will write until my pen blotches all my
Blank pages sad, and leaves my exclamation marks
Simple puddles in a mess.
So come back soon,
Before my heart begins to beat too soft a vibration,
And my pen runs out of black.
When this voice begins to rise
Like a letter I did not write
Could you hold your hand out now?
I’m a Saint and you’re the cloud.
If this sound was more then that,
If words were meant for writing
Would the pen keep upright marks?
To pause between the breaths.
All my paper has begun to curl,
And you’re the little triangles
I’ve drawn around the page
To fit between my mind.