Posts Tagged ‘Warm’

Under the stars-

show me the constellations you know.

Why don’t we make some up, too?

Wrapped in sweatshirts, blankets.

A foot is quite a bit of distance.

Should I move closer?

I want to.

Would you mind if

I touched your hand?

Leaned against you?

Kissed you?

Nothing but us, the ground,

the food in a basket, and

all the other amenities I brought.

And the stars

shining.

Yellow fingers sweep the clouds away,

extend to brush my skin-

I feel the gentle, warm caress.

The world illuminates:

houses, fields, trees, lakes brightened.

Snow dissipates, ice dwindles in drips,

both glint all the same.

Here is the change

as everything wakes from cold slumber

and will stir into flower and fervor.

My friend lies in a land of romance-

her head filled with aspirations

rose-colored, spring water, green grass, castles.

I remain on the edge

of Recovery and Heartbreak.

Black crags, pools of ink,

breath is steam before me.

I see the horizon.

I feel the warmth of the yellow light

and I chase it,

but remain in the cold shadows.

Is it only when I empty myself

of the words unsaid, unwritten;

the deeds undone that

then I will enter the realm between?

Tepidity would be better

than remaining

in the dark.

But when I go

out at night

and look at the stars,

my back presses against the snow

and I feel the feathery light touch

of the wind

and shiver,

and there’s shadowed white

on either side of me,

and only black-and-white night above,

yet all I can think about

is you

moving, or pulling me, closer

so we can try

to keep each other warm.

It’s an awful thought to have- 

the thought that you may have come between two people.

If you believe yourself to be

a Bighearted person,

then do not let anger

or grief fester

in your thoughts,

or come across in your deeds.

This may seem so easily said,

and not so easily done,

but the truth is

that bighearted people

are most easily broken,

but also the most forgiving.

A big heart

is a house,

with thousands of rooms

for guests-

for every person

the heart’s owner

has ever met.

Metaphorical hearts can only be large

if they leave room for love,

and force hatred

out their doors.

Windless stillness,

silence.

Sunlight slices through

dense clumps of silver.

Light perforated

only by gray, almost transparent

shadows- long and thin

shadows of trees.

The earth is wearing out its

white play-clothes.

They have gravel stains,

dirt stains,

and the beating heart

of its grasses is turning

as it enters REM sleep.

Earth is dreaming of when

she will burst from the womb,

naked and beautiful,

and will grow its emerald hair

long.

And will decorate itself in jewels of color-

blossoms

and leaves.

We could join hands

and walk down to the pier.

Look back and see the city lights-

those glowing orbs of white, yellow, and amber.

Look at the water-

so dark at this time, like black velvet.

Feel the cold, wind

biting at the tip of your nose,

air charged with an aura of ice.

Our hands

a heat source, keeping numbness

from settling in our fingertips.

You or I could ask,

out loud or in our heads,

“what is it all for?”

It’s killing time.

That’s all.

But I would rather kill time

with you, than anyone else.

You’re worth more

than the meager minutes I’m given

to spend with you.

Only in moments such as this,

when static speaks

more clearly to me than any words

or mellifluous sounds,

when tear tracks sting

from cold winter air,

sadness generates a volcano in my chest,

and each limb is distinct and separate-

every nerve hot cold, numb or electric,

do my cares not pass

and I feel a part

of something greater and infinite,

as if I am only partially in this world.

And only in those moments

do I feel unafraid, while closer

to the End.