Tea and symphony

 

This unwired brain can feel a little

strange, a kettle turned on. Bubbling.

The way it can look at a page and see

a word,

and in that word

it picks out a seed, planting it

to grow into a tree

whose roots stretch

outward

to construct a world,

and on that world

people are born

like new seedlings

from the soil beneath.

Teabags in a mug of destiny.

 

And yet I can't remember a face.

I can't picture the moment we met,

or the way your name and that face

connect.

Unless you are someone closely tied

to my heart, sugar sweet,

I forget - wiped clean like

a computer terminal switched off at

the end of the day. Terminal reality,

minuscule memory.

Except... I can remember the oddest facts,

dates and times, memories I shouldn't

be able to recollect, diary entries from

decades behind a faded screen. Misted

in hot water steam.

 

It hyperfocuses on the minuscule.

It fades when it's been around people,

but it craves those people, and the attention,

though it hates the eyes...

those eyes that gaze upon me

in ridicule. Milking my pain.

 

It hides in shadows, but dances under starlight.

Under stage light it brightens like a supernova

skyline, and drinks it down.

Yet place it in a group and it sits confused.

Give it room with one and it will talk from

earth to the moon.

 

It's complex, a web of tangled threads

fizzing with electricity, yet missing

some vital chemistry. So it sits idly thinking

about every aspect of a cup of tea, and still

not making one, except in a poem that

goes on repeating for too long.

 

Kettle on...

Teabag in mug...

Sugar (2 maybe 3)

Hot water...

No milk for me...

Drink instantly...

 

Repeat.

heart drawn in coloured pencil

 

And I forged my heart

out of red rusted nails, I toiled over

soldered bolts, greased

in forgotten tales. Blood and oil.

Every part, lovingly restored

internally. To beat. A rhythm

of eternity. A boat. Ready to set sail.

 

I collected scraps, shards of hope,

cut by swords of distrust

into shreds of truth. And I bled for her.

I bled words that could only form

because I’d fallen in love with her.

 

I performed my part in the show,

I showed my heart was not just a token,

but a beacon of hope to lead us on to

greater tomorrows. A performance.

 

And I laid down my path, in faded stars,

leftover sorrows, and burrowed hearts.

 

But then my soul was crushed

beyond repair, I’d lost all hope,

and I no longer cared.

I wasn’t me. Not the me

I see when I turn the camera

back to see, if it was really me

or a mimic wearing my skin like a trophy.

 

I was someone I couldn’t be.

A mask pretending to be happy.

 

Internally nothing but atrophy...

 

But then I met you.

and I saw something magical.

something like a fantasy.

The fantastical, the wonderful,

the dazzling, the universe singing

something that was more than earthly,

more than human,

something that turned me

into someone I wanted

to lean on. To believe in.

A light to beam on.

 

You collected flowers of hope

coloured by pens of love

into poems of truth.

And I wept for you. Happy tears.

Joyful, love-filled oceans.

I slept on word-shaped pillows that could

only form because I’d fallen in love with you.

 

And I performed my part in the show,

I showed my heart was not just a token,

but a beacon of hope to lead us on to

greater tomorrows and I shone brighter

than the sun, then turned the spotlight on to you

to dazzle the room more, because this wasn’t

a performance but life being lived in front of everyone.

 

And you laid down a path, in glitter stars.

of lovestruck tomorrows, and conjoined souls.

 

And I drew my heart in coloured pencils...

In silent sighs

 

I look around me and see

so many mountains,

peaks from sea to sea,

with troughs and rivers below their feet.

 

For though I may be wise,

I still see naivety, for I've lived

a thousand stories, a handful of lies,

and some narratives that time could

never describe,

But now I see there are a billion books

that I always thought were out of reach.

And words I couldn't hope to transcribe.

Full of worlds that lived beyond

the misted glass of my eyes.

 

But I never wished

to explore those pages alone.

Shared memories are so much more precious,

like gemstones and untold treasures,

whereas the pages flip silently past,

when it is just me, myself, and I,

trying to piece together my jigsaw sky.

 

And it is a jumble.

My mind fumbles the catch

more often than I care to admit,

tripping and landing

face first in the shit.

But I still put on the catcher's mitt,

I still keep on taking to the pitch,

I still stand

ready to be hit full force in the face.

 

Because I want to taste life,

and that sometimes includes pain.

And I have a million stories that I could

walk; I just wish to walk them with you.

 

So I will keep watching those skies,

placing new pieces when they arrive.

To see

the whole

for what it is,

a beautiful picture of eternal bliss,

I will place negativity into the ground,

a promise. Buried to feed the soil,

a cemetery of bloated carcass dreams,

fantasies of perfection that could never be true,

for our lives are warped rippling views, of good

and bad blending into one.

And I'll plant so many seeds of hope,

each birthing a tree of destiny,

with branches routing into a forest of connectivity.

 

Where they connect with the hearts

that nourish them, and give their

fruits to those hearts, to grant them

sustenance.

 

And I look around me

and I see so many mountains,

coated in so many trees,

and I say in silent sighs,

you really are so beautiful. I love you.