Unconditionally yours

 

Have I said too much?

I let it slip

in a whispered kiss,

a word that could

easily have been missed

if I had just let it

sit,

but I held on

too tightly

that it squeezed

out of my grip and

I blurted it loudly.

and your ears

must have felt it hit.

 

And now I quiver inside,

those butterflies

won’t settle down, I wait

for the ground to open…

But nothing. Not a gaping chasm,

nor a yawning hole to fall in.

 

So, I stand transfixed.

If I grow roots, then I may

become a tree, or a flower

wilting away. Why did I say

that word, the one I let

fall from my lips?

If I’d kept my heart

out of my throat,

it would have never dripped

onto the paving stones

beneath your feet.

 

And I wait, as time ticks by

so slowly,

a trickling river running dry,

like my mouth from fear,

for I said too much,

I should have 

kept those words clear,

I should have stayed away,

but I said the words

I always wanted you to hear.

And wait. Why am I worrying?

It doesn’t matter either way,

I love you, it’s simply true,

so, I’ll let those words stay

and I’ll carry the weight,

because I don’t need

answers

to questions

that don’t require response

for my love is unconditionally yours.

On bare arms

 

That clock,

it’s ticking down.

A colossal countdown.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

It inches across continents,

leaps across chasms, it itches

under the skin of bare arms.

Pushing the hairs,

to stand up straight.

To...

Attention!

 

Now march.

 

LEFT.

RIGHT.

LEFT. RIGHT.

BEAR ARMS.

FIRE.

 

War looms under distant clouds,

getting closer by the hour.

Instances of hatred become

raging flames licking the souring sky.

 

Are we already too late?

Sleepwalking into a nightmare fate.

 

They said it wouldn’t happen,

we were too far advanced,

but they also said the great war,

was the war to end them all.

Yet still the sequel came along

bigger and badder than the one before.

Hollywood always wants more.

 

A match is struck, the fuse is lit,

the shit is flying through the air,

and the president has the floor,

fanning the flames. Pockets brimming

with blood money payments.

 

They said that we would

accept our differences,

but now we punish and distance

ourselves from any

that are not imitating us.

 

And the factories are transformed,

no longer creating goods,

instead mass-producing war,

as the rockets stack up high over head,

and the tills cry from the strain.

 

THUD THUD THUD

 

The sound of boots on broken backs,

the squelch of mud and a world gone mad.

The rumble of thunder, here come the tanks.

Now the air is aflame, let unleash the hounds.

 

Irrational.

It’s international.

Arms aloft. Alarms go off.

End time bombs fall

in slow-motion

staccato rhythm.

 

BOOM

 

Humanity crumbles

and we all

 

Blink out.

 

The money burns, the oil fields

soaked in clouds of smoke,

The factories just ground down stones.

The Hollywood sign falls,

crushing presidential bones under

rubble cathedral, surrounded

by headstones of the dead.

Standing straight like the hairs on bare arms.

 

And the earth cries, for the loss,

scars left upon her skin.

 

And the clock finally stops ticking.

A story buried deep

 

I have a story buried in my heart,

deep under its soiled remains.

If only I could dig it up

I’d share it with you. Every part,

every torn word, each

sentiment-seasoned sentence.

 

If it was in a book

I’d spell out every feeling,

then I’d spill my bleeding soul

onto the floor,

to form a babbling brook

and I’d continue to pour the love,

until we are islands

in the beautiful healing blue.

 

If my words were stars blinking in neon,

laser Lines drawn in microscopic precision,

forming a prism heart between them.

Building a story. Word by word, wing beat

against windswept memory.

A love told in the heavens as angels weep happily.

 

A gold-lined notebook of prized possession.

 

I’d grab a fistful, and pluck them down

delicately, playfully like the sweetest fruit

of the bountiful universal tree. A list full

of ingredients that create our memories,

handing them to you on a plate. To satiate

the lustful wait of times hungry state.

To show that you are the meaning of fate.

You are the end of every pathway.

You are beautiful.

 

And I am late.

 

If my dreams were sewn to the fabric

of reality, a patchwork where

fantasy and story blend in two. Then I’d know.

 

I should be holding you.

I should be showing you the stars,

I should be feeling the rush between

my ears as all my thoughts flow away,

replaced by peaceful air.

And we should sit.

Stare at this world we create.

But I’m scared I’d get the lines wrong,

and be left alone on a fragmented shoreline.

 

For this story should have started

the very day our eyes locked,

a gate ripped open, wounds healed,

scars sewn up with threads of lessons learnt.

 

So, I whisper it first, a gently flurry of verse.

 

A feeling formed into a structure that could

hold high the universe, if I just let the words

depart their cage, like firebirds aiming for space.

 

You are beauty and grace.

A flower in a galaxy of grey

You are a swaying sea,

when water is a magnet to me.

 

And then I’ll shout it loud.

You are magnificence,

your elegance sings to the clouds,

and beauty bows to you. Loves you

As do I too.