Some days it’s like you’ve only just slipped through my fingers.
I’m still grasping for the tail-end of a thread,
trying to haul you back up, back to me
and everyone you left.
I feel guilty for the hollowness in my chest,
as if I don’t deserve to miss you this much.
I don’t believe I deserve to miss you this much
because I should have realised the acres of spaces you occupied
inside my head and heart
before the phone call rang in from your mother
and every worst fear was came crashing in like thunder.
We’re not always in harmony you and I.
Some days my notes fall flat,
slip down the stanzas,
don’t match the tempo
thumping on right next to me.
When I feel you vibrating in my bones,
so close it almost hurts,
yet my own sounds come out as broken
my throat aches to match you.
My lungs burn to swell and bellow.
To reach the stage you’re standing on
unaware I’ve sunk behind the curtain.
But I know I have to wait the darkness out.
Fight to find the spotlight again.
Daily Prompt: Harmonize
I’ve not really been writing over the last few months so I’m not sure how this poem will go down. I might be a bit rusty. For some reason I just haven’t been able to sit down and write properly for most of 2017 so I’m hoping this post will mark the start of getting myself back into the habit of getting those words down on paper and doing something with my time.
Constructive criticism is always welcome so if you have any thoughts on how to make this piece a better then please type away in the comments below. It’s amazing how much my writing has improved since I started this blog and the comments I’ve got over the years have been just as much of a help as the practice.
I have a fear of heights
but not just that,
most aspects of going downwards
So I’m confused,
as to why this new edge,
this metaphorical one,
leaves me so calm.
I suppose you,
might have something to do,
with all this…
It’s difficult to fear falling,
when you’ve got use to being caught.
We parked up three exits pasts Memory Lane,
you pushing keys on an old Nokia brick,
waving it across my seat for signal
while I sipped water,
bottled and lukewarm.
I didn’t say this was a waste,
though it was
You and your chase
for old conversations,
an old haunt
you forgot and then remembered.
I stayed silent,
and watching you wave.
Inspiration Call: Creative Talents Unleashed list three.
You are as easy to read
as my mother’s little green book the day it came out of the washing machine one solid pile of gunk.
We dried it out
shelved above the rayburn but the pages never held together again and the cover was lost to detergent suds and bin bags.
Is that what you expect,
when contemplating outcomes for maybe just once letting someone see a little more than this shell you’ve carved to replicate what people think is you?