Paper flowers
sit beside origami swans
and each one is a poem,
a moment of longing,
or a song sent
across the yearning sea.
A sonnet composed
to say how you feel,
a dream that feels so real
and waking only makes
it grow stronger. A tear for a stranger,
a hurtful moment seen
in a newspaper,
Folded into a beautiful flower,
to spread the love wider.
Each swan is a story,
feet flailing
under the surface
to gain traction,
but the fluid motion
of the water
is only a distraction
from the pulse
that beats in each piece
of art set on fire
in the summer sky.
The flower and the swans,
all old songs
and memories torn
from old dreams.
Random snippets of dialogue
that repeat in circles through the head.
A mind wandering
into an empty world ahead.
A collection of photographs
laid out on a bed,
all portraying love
that was set free
to live across the seas.
All illustrating parts of you
and parts of me
in subliminal poetry.
The swan dipped in ink.
Depicting something bleak
sitting on the horizon.
Something of which
we don’t want to speak.
The passing time crashes its waves
against the rocks,
wearing them into dust.
And the black swan sits
laughing at us.
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