- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Musiqarium In A Fading Memory
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Suddenly, Last Summer…
I was drowning am I still? As I went under I saw swirls of blue, turquoise and green in a hazy dream-like state, through pressurized eyes.
Am I saved?
No, I am going under. My throat closes and air cuts away. I fall deeper. The depths of my descent are unknown. The end is uncertain.
Always New Depths…
Then, as if out of nowhere, a hand swirling like a mystical entity, reached out and cradled me, lifting me upwards. It was a struggle as the force from above pressed upon me, pushing against the entity, fighting to send me into the bottomless murky blue.
…And I wake up Alone.
Lids flutter before opening against the painful light filtering through sheer curtains of white. Like a butterflies wings the curtain waves on the gentle breeze blowing across the room from the open window. My brow furrows as the pain stabs. My mouth tastes dry and bitter. I turn away from the light to stare at the empty space next to me. The bedsheet still crisp and unwrinkled as the pillow rests undisturbed in fluffed glory.
Your eyes…
Eyes intense yet silly at times. Burrow into me and burn away my resolve. The snapshot is fresh in my mind and never leaves. It rests in the photo album of my memories. I take it out once in a while to glimpse the familiar creases and spectrum of colors. The pains too much to linger over for long. I press a soft cheek against the cool spot on the bedsheet, inhaling a memory of your scent. Long gone now but stays within me when I need a moment of closeness with you.
Turn The Page…
This chapter is done, but the books unfinished. It's ongoing and seems never-ending. My fingers dance along the razor thin edges of the page. I trace the lines and curves of each letter. Closing my eyes for brief moments, fingers glide across black on white backdrop.
A laugh, a cry and sometimes a long goodbye, makes the muscles in my face tense then release. Hesitate then continue for tomorrow is inevitable. Until then, I turn the page.
"Copyright © 2006 MLB. All Rights Reserved"
- COMMENTS
LeBrozabout 17 years agoSounds like a sad prose look at a lost love. I noticed this happen a couple times, like this part from the last strophe, "the books unfinished." Should really be book's (a contraction for book is). Depending on the context, book's could also be a possessive. The way you've it, it is a plural.
