I’ve moved past from all the days wishing
you were living this life with me.
Did you ever dream the same –
do you like what you see?
Life moves on as we
follow along
mindlessly –
then we’re
gone.
*Originally published 4/10/14
Nonet: A nonet is a type of poem which has nine lines, with the first line having 9 syllables, the second 8 syllables, the third 7 until the ninth line has only one. Some nonets may also have an iambic meter (stress on every other syllable).
it’s the yearning that hits me the worst
when all I think about is you
what you’re doing, where you are –
are you thinking of me?
and in the silence
that follows, should
i believe
what i
see?
When you gaze at me like that, I melt
like snow upon the mountain top
hurtling down through crags and rocks
yearning to be with you,
yet can never be
your only one
my fate like
morning
dew
on this day two years ago, he died,
driven home from the hospital
for it was cheaper to die
at home, not surrounded
by his children for
they were too far
from home, now
on their
own.
there’s a storm brewing deep inside her
rumbling like thunder in the dark,
seeking release lest it rips
right through her, tearing her
troubled soul apart,
till nothing’s left
but broken
bits of
heart
For the first time in a long, long time
she felt beautiful in her eyes
her lips red from his kisses
arms warm from his embrace
long after he left
the bed still warm
but only
where he
lay
You just inherited a dilapidated, crumbling-down grand mansion in the countryside. Assuming money is no issue, what do you do with it?
Fix it, paint it, then call it my home
this is the place I’ll call my own
in the countryside where the
mornings, bliss; dreams bestowed
by sweet Seshat’s kiss,
to write, to read,
so many
tales to
weave.
“Home is where people understand you,”
you said that once so long ago
when no one wished to believe
you, when you had nowhere
to go. And though those
days are gone, you’re
still alone,
still not
home.
This rose, it grows outside my window
greeting the sun before I wake.
Tiny buds that open so
sweetly with each passing
hour of the day,
surrendering –
giving in
to the
din
