Summer Wind

The summer wind ceases

As the leaves become a blur of red and brown

The air is crisp and cool, sending a shiver down my spine

I awake from the endless dream of you

The summer nights where we were lost in one another

But as the leaves fell from the trees,

Your eyes lost that gleam

And your kiss lost that electric spark

I suppose these summer nights could not last forever

Just as we could not pass time’s test

It wears a hole in my heart to know

One day you may not even remember my name

See my friend, I am not one for change

I grasp and grip the memories of the past, I keep pictures in my pocket and live on memory lane

I see you in his eyes but he will never be you

Goodbyes are my least favorite subject and time is not always my friend

I dread how the pages never stop turning and you cannot pause or rewind moments.

I lost you in the summer sunset

Somewhere between the shining stars and ominous moon

And deep in the ocean’s waves

Seasons will change and years will go by

But you will never have left my mind

7 am

She wakes up 7 a.m. Saturday morning.

She brushes her dark brown hair and puts on her wool coat to battle the cold of New York City in the winter.

On her own in an apartment too big for just one.

She wonders why she ever decided to come here in the first place.

He wakes up 7 a.m. Saturday morning.

He puts on his black, faded leather jacket and fleece grey scarf to battle the cold of New York City in the winter.

In an apartment too big for just one.

He wonders why he feels so alone.

It is 7:30 a.m. in a small coffee shop in the city of hustle and bustle.

While shoulder to shoulder on a crowded street everyone still feels abandoned at times.

He spills his coffee on her blouse.

She laughs and says not to worry.

And for the first time he wonders if he won’t be an island of a man anymore, no more isolation.

Their entire lives have brought them to this moment.

The moment that everything falls into place. 

Contradiction, 1st post

Contradiction

Your feeble words tell me that you’re fine

But your eyes have trouble wearing that mask.

The bags under them have grown darker,

Though you tell me you sleep soundly at night.

Your cracked and bruised knuckles, coated with dried blood,

Show me the truth that cowers behind your words.

You tell me that you’re better.

But my darling you’re as hooked as a heroin addict as he swears it’s the last time and continues to inject his vein with the rusty syringe or the man who swears he’ll just have one drink but by one he means four, and by four he means enough to make him stumble into his house at three a.m. to his wife as she shakes her head and doesn’t even bother to turn on the light or scream or yell or question.

The thin lines are as red and hot as the flames of a brush fire, engulfing your arms and leaving a trail of smoke in hopes that someone will follow it back to you.

Your white scars are the ghosts of your troubles that cracked your armor and snapped your sword.

Please don’t lie to me.

You are thinning away, just like the trees as their leaves fall one by one from their limbs in the beginning of a cold winter, leaving them naked and exposed.

When your smile fades slowly as if it were never real at all.

It tells me that when the sun goes to sleep and the world stops watching, you close your door and lock it.

You sit on the floor with your world of pain that lives in the crevices of your mind and when you push it away and shut the windows and slam the doors, somehow the cold still seeps through the unsealed cracks.

You clutch your hands to you aching heart that has been wrapped in barbed wire.

You part your lips but you can make no sound.

You hold the bottle that will take it all away, you pour them into your hand slowly, one by one and stare at the relief of knowing that there won’t be a tomorrow.

But please don’t give up yet.

My sweet contradiction with eyes that refuse to lie along with your words.

Your hourglass has not been emptied nor your fate been sealed.

Let me hold you. Because I was never good at goodbyes.