Poetry

Paper & Pen

My secret accomplice, my one friend of truth and honesty,

akin to my every eccentricity,

listening to my heart's ebullient electricity.

Letters turn into words, phrases, and then flutter,

reluctant to release, I use all of the strength that I can muster.

Loud and soft, ubiquitous and hidden,

I listen to the infinite rhythm.

It preoccupies my mind, I find every word left unspoken,

I capture it,

savor it,

and concede to my one true token.

My sensibility flourishes, I'm left tingling at its touch.

I feel frigid after the warmth of the words has gone,

my paper is where all words belong.

The Ceiling

The ceiling,

I lay down and stare at my ceiling.

Trying to compel myself to wake, my fingers are ardent with urgency.

My brain is obstinate to recovery, my insight is distorted.

They encumber my thoughts, they are somber and despondent.

The outside world is tangible, but do I really want to reach?

I think I'll just sit, and stare at my ceiling.

They are acrimonious now, they conspire to rip me from my bed.

I vacillate between reality and fantasy.

I think I'll just stay in reality, and stare at my ceiling.

Song of Light

Luminescence. The only word to describe her heart, her soul, and her mind.

She never paid mind to those who made continuous attempts to abase her.

Although her beauty was quite the contrary of deficient, she was never vain.

She was accustomed to the stares of those who judged her, and of those who loved her.

Evasion of her presence didn’t disturb her.

Endless parodies of her demeanor could not phase her.

She was persecuted and oppressed for her allure.

But her mind was boisterous and happy.

An epiphany was what made her madly and crazily beautiful.

She was irrational and imperfect

and human.

Where the Sun Is

our hearts were vulnerable, laughter a contagious disease

potent streams of sumptuous ease

negating emotions was never an option

with the collaboration in our love's potion

reliant on the sun, just as all the flowers and the trees

inept with walking, flying with the breeze

a zealot of music, the whistles of the birds

abstinence from worries and finite words

our diverging paths always became one

you and I glowing with the ferocity of the sun