Poetry

Silken

A strand shines white,

a glimmer on the darkened street.

The moonlight has touched it,

but its fellows remain that rich brown

hanging down to your shoulders.

Each one a piece of your thoughts,

a ribbon tied fast to the building blocks

that make you.

Old strands gift their being to others,

and then leave.

Fresh beginnings grow in their stead.

Poetry

Wanting

You want to be a post for me to lean on,

an ear to whisper all secrets.

You want to be my walking guide,

and take me off the boring paths.

You want to be the person I always laugh with,

the person who will take my hand in dance.

You want to be the one to hold me,

ward away all my fears.

You want to be a wall of protection

against all my daily worries.

You want to always be in my life,

smile at me every day.

You want to make a pact,

words that hold true forever.

 

I want to accept those words,

and to be all those things for you.

Poetry

Fire Dance

Around the corner I spot your flames,

little blue flickers, seeming tamed.

But should a whisper, snide and bold

from the tower whence they hold

the power to make all decisions

interfere with your mission

or threaten the one you hold dear,

I know you will instill them with mortal fear.

Your flames will rise up, acrid, molten

and in an instant completely engulf them.

I worry, not for their well being,

but its effect on you I’m seeing.

This radioactive surge you have

may drain you with its grab

and all I can do is hold out my hand,

and hope, hope

you’ll rise up, scar-less, from the spent ground.

Poetry

Liquid Clay

You hand fits in mine so perfectly,

I wonder if they were cast from the same mould.

I can feel all of you

in even the slightest touch.

I know our thoughts of the future,

and I bathe in them every day, thinking

one day,

one day.

 

The leaves are browning; coppers, bronze, golds.

You are silver. A river of it,

a mirror

that I can swim in to the house we’ll have,

with a library,

a dojo,

a room of puzzles only we can solve.

 

Forwards or backwards,

past or future.

Not forgetting the sweet moments of present.

 

 

Poetry

Declaration

I like how our fingers latch

when our hands stray close to each other.

There’s no question, no uncertainty.

They just link,

mirroring the chain binding our hearts.

 

When words fail,

and they always do when we most want them,

a touch serves as well.

 

It’s an answer. An agreement.

An ‘I’ll stand beside you no matter what

you tell me, what emotions you let out

or what sadness you let in’

contract.

 

And it’s for life.

Poetry

Path finder

You cradle the dragon against your chest,

shielding its sleeping form from the elements.

 

Walking proud

along sandy shores

that soak up your footprints

even as you make them.

 

Waves crash and swell,

music in its most natural fashion,

reaching

for the pull of your hand.

A friendly caress, an age old bond.

 

But it is not yet time to give in

and take its shelter,

Rocks must be overturned and mountains scaled.

 

The dragon already begins to stir

and it is still

far from home.