In Stillness

I listen,
hoping that I might hear your voice.
For though I know of you,
your face,
your dark hair and green eyes,
I know not where you are
nor from whence you came.
I know only that you did.

You left me
with a spark, a flame, a fire,
that I feel deep inside.
Perhaps, it was misguided
thinking it burned for you
when warm coals
flared at your touch.

As I reside in the dark,
in search of you, I know
closing a door for a draft
would be foolish
when this fire needs fuel.
Though I may not be close to you now
or ever,
the old processes resurrected
warm me from within.
This machine has awakened
and its renewed strength pulses,
filling me with a familiar feeling.
I can only hope that the wind will blow,
bringing not only fuel,
but the source of the flame.

On Meeting

I feel awkward.
At least we’re in a group.
I smile, a lot. I look into your eyes.
Try to find a hint of what you see and what you think.
I worry. I’ve rehearsed these moments in my head.
Though I never feel the comfort I’ve foolishly practiced.
You have pretty eyes. Nice hair. I like the curls.

“i’m matt nice to meet you too nice weather this place is lively.”

I make some jokes. Good thing it’s not one on one.
No cracks in the facade. This is tough.
There. I got a smile. And a retort.
You cross your arms, seemingly as nervous.
I look off in the distance. Look back at you. Look at our friends.
We all talk about things, drink.
We look at eachother. Look away.
You don’t smile much. I smile too much.
Most of the time is a blur.
I fill the space with jokes and a nervous laugh.
I look at my watch and you get up to go.

“Nice meeting you. You too.”

Hope to see you again soon I think, but don’t say.
I watch you leave. Questions fill the empty space.
Was I obnoxious? Will I see you again? Were you interested?
No answers, just worries.

Because I Wait

I held your hand,
looked into your eyes,
felt your body near mine.
But when I opened my eyes
I was still in the same cold bed.
Your smile and your plentiful laughter
nowhere to be found.
And with your touch lingering on my hand
I searched.
Nothing I could see, but I thought of your hand,
the hand I’ve yet to touch,
and there you were, smiling,
laughing, eyes alight in my mind
and I could feel your existence.
Could you feel me?
Across the miles,
did your tender fingers
know of my calloused hands?
And did they recall my smile,
meek before you,
or the overabundant laughter
I poured on your feet
as if its profusion
could match the simple beauty of your own?
Did you recall the hair that sometimes covered my eyes
or the way those eyes rarely lingered
and fluttered nearly as much as my heart?
Could you see me stretching ,
like a lily, for sunlight
hoping to capture at least one ray for myself?
My cold sheets remind me of the truth
and the emptiness.
Here the silence, the solitude echoes louder
than your laughter.
I squeeze this dream within my fingers
and the realism lingers.
I can only hope it lasts.

3/1/09

To dispel my absence…

Here is something I’ve sort of started. Take it as you will.

My heart devours everything.
Sometimes it controls me,
paints my world in red haze,
makes me fear a future I should not even ponder.
It drives me to madness,
filling my mouth with words
that escape in sickening upheavals
forcing them between my lips, all over you.
It’s not necessarily the words I regret,
but my manner of expression.

I’ve bound the demon within my chest.
Wrapped in chains, locked tight,
I’ll hold the key and seal the cave
in hope of a time
when you will free my prisoner
and hand in hand
we’ll allow our greedy organs
the chance to ingest everything that we are.

Ghost I have Become

A ghost I have become.
Your cold eyes pierce me.
I’m a dream you’ve awaken from.

I hear all that escapes your lips, every whisper and hum,
though you don’t hear a word my mouth forms.
A ghost I have become.

I fear the darkness to which I may succumb.
I’ve been relegated to the back of your mind
like a dream that you’ve awakened from.

This icy darkness fosters nothing, I’m numb
and none of my attempts at contact are successful.
A ghost I have become.

I’m invisible to you, only visible to some;
It’s a shame, I’ll always see you so perfectly.
I’m a dream you’ve awaken from.

It’s white noise and foggy breath I’ve grown accustomed
to. If I close my eyes and open them, will you be gone?
It’s a ghost I have become
or maybe you’re a dream I’ll never awaken from.

10/22/06

Last Knight (tent.)

She’s dead!

She’s dead…

I rode, ironclad, through swamp, through desert, through forest,
I rode through sultriness, through frigidness,
sword swinging at every challenger.
Never resting, not to clean my blade,
never stopping once in my tracks.
Always warm in the saddle,
my steed never let her hooves cool.

Spire in sight,
I slayed the dragon.
I feasted on it’s fiery heart;
took no treasures
for none sparkled with a shine
near her aura.

I ascended the tower,
nothing but stench
greeted me at the door.
Oh God! How you torment me so.
No treasure, no prize,
Only bleached bones to hold,
Only a corpse
at my apex.

She’s dead…

(this is a first draft, edit coming soon)

To she who inhabits my dreams

For years I’ve chased you.
Through fields of green and skies of blue
you’ve always been a step ahead.
Those nights I chased you
I always awoke invigorated,
my heart beating fast.

I chased that dark chocolate hair
and caught its wildflower scent.
It wasn’t much different from your perfume
that lingered in the air as you ran,
the one trail you left me.
Your body taunted me so,
daring me to wrap you in my arms.
My hands would reach for your soft white dress
but the silky white would always pull out of reach.

Some nights I chased you until my legs were tired
and then I’d chase you more, until you faded into the distance.
Other nights you were faster than lightning
and it was only moments before you were gone.
I never saw your face, you always looked ahead.
But I knew I’d find you one day in the real world.
It was the desire to chase you through reality
that drove me on.

I’ve spent days, months, searching for you.
I know little of your face,
other than your slightly pointed ears.
You never spoke in those dreams
although there were times that I could hear a soft laugh
that must have accompanied a big bright smile.

I found myself chasing you less and less through dreams.
All around, I looked harder.  And I listened.
Your laugh, that sweet siren song,
is what drew me to you.

You are so much more beautiful than I ever imagined.
Your big brown eyes are lakes of the deepest amber,
depths I could drown in with pleasure.
Those light freckles around your gently pointed nose
only enhance the beauty of your thin-lipped smile.
And those teeth, your smile is just as I pictured it;
carefree and enchanting, complementing your laugh.

I’ve looked at you, just as I looked at you in those dreams.
I recognize you for who you are, but do you see me?

I’ve listened to you, heard your laugh.
I’m under your spell, but do you hear me?

Look at me closer my dear, listen to me
and recognize the voice that called out for you
night after night after night.
See the hands that reached for you
and were always there in case you fell.
See the feet that were always behind yours.

See me for who I am.
One second of recognition is all I ask,
then I know my heart will be complete.

2/22/07

Morning in a land of winter pure (pt. 1)

A new day awakens to the purity of winter.
The sun ascends blue, peeking from keyholes in the woolen sky
its rays illuminate the silence.
Snowflakes fall onto my palm,
onto my hair, my shoulders, my face.
I imagine them touching you,
frosting your chocolate tresses,
drops of milk in a cup of coffee
sweetened by your dark honey gems.
Our white christmas, 3 months dilatory.

I think to dial, speak to you,
“wish you were here.”
I know you’d love my weather,
but I hang up before I touch the phone.
I stand daunted by silence.
So much stands ready in mind:
bags, boxes, cases
rife with words addressed to you,
yet none seem worthy,
none seem strong enough
to shatter the glass we’ve placed between.

We’ve written,
but I am fickle.
Somedays my words are friends,
some nights I wake in sweats.
Between which I ask the reason,
the point of this worry,
of which there seems to be none.
None other than the fact that you matter.

You matter more
than anyone in this world should matter.
And it’s your eyes’, your mind’s, your being’s
judgement that I fear and desire.
Silence awakens masochism;
spill my blood on this of purest planes
or love me, desire me, stand with me,
in this land of winter pure.

Seppuku

Smooth,
the blade shines sharp.
Held against your belly
the cold, thirsty steel
reflects the face of Lucifer.
Kneeling, head bowed,
reels of tape play the scene
on the backs of your eyelids.
The point presses above your navel
where a red rosebud has appeared
from a gentle press of your shaky hand.
Like the rosebud too early picked
it runs, a drip, down your satin skin.
One smooth motion
and the pain ends.
No shame, no tears.

Silently behind you
I stand, lost.
If I take the dagger
will you die regardless?
Or will I only shame myself
and push you further away?
Let me in this with you,
hand me the dagger, dear.
If it only hurts you more,
may it’s virgin thirst
be quenched with my flame.

Am I

Am I but a dream
One that you’ve awaken from?
Do I wander this world
To all invisible and numb?
I reach for your hand
Does mine pass through your skin?
When I trace your lips
Do you feel my soul within?

Am I dead to you
Nothing but a ghost?
My words thrown into the night,
Of them do the stars speak?
Am I left to haunt
Dreams left undone?
Is that which I desire there to taunt,
To leave me incomplete?
Will I be left alone to walk
through the dark, my business unfinished?
Will darkness of silent talk
suffocate, entomb my soul?