#570
Suppose it doesn’t,
suppose i don’t,
pretend i have a choice,
when deep down, i know,
the moment i pull myself
to the shore,
is mere minutes before
i swan dive
back to the river.
#571
Fighting the tide,
the weight over my eyelids,
swinging, writing,
searching for that one line,
that one feeling
that changes everything,
that brings balance,
that brings ease,
that lets everyone i’ve known,
loved, loathed, loved me, loathed me,
found me indifferent as we’ve passed
unspoken, every soul before me,
beyond me, that they’re loved,
that they’re joy, some sequence
of sentences that expands every
moment of serenity so it might
envelope their senses, their memories
in peace, in calm, ease like a quiet
moment when one notices
the commanding colours of dusk
between bouts of rain, of golden hours,
of fuchsia, the taste of citrus, of mint,
the smell of rosemary, and lavender,
the comfort of communal laughter,
that feeling of the right hug,
the security of knowing that you
are loved by those close to you,
despite the distance,
despite some silence,
and if you don’t have that,
i hope that i can deliver it to you
with this stanza, that you know
that someone, at some time,
at ten thirty eight in the evening was waiting
for you to read that very line,
to note that very hour,
to feel the ache behind my eyelids
as i fight of sleep to scratch a pen,
to make a page, to let you know
you’re loved, that the efforts made
so your eye may dance across this text
or your eye may feel the patters of
these syllables while this poem is read
to you is only worth it,
because you are exactly that.
#572
And there i found him,
my Uncle Apollo,
ending my dream in
his hug like a swallow.
#573
i’m starting to understand
that being stuck has its merits
it’s not ideal, it’s not the best,
so long as i can shake away
the nerves, the stress,
it’s rest,
embrace
forced rest.
#574
All too often
i find it impossible to
retire myself to dream
until i’ve heard your goodnight,
until i’ve had the chance to tell
you one last time that i love you,
perhaps it wont be exactly those words,
but rest assured it is exactly that meaning,
or as close as the three can approximate
such an inconceivable, boundless feeling,
i exhaust myself further,
for the mere possibility,
of one last word, on last kiss,
but we bid ourselves to our dreams.
Thanks for joining! Find poems through out the week on my instagram @monsieurwrite
Don’t forget to check out the poems being recited on The Write Stuff podcast!
Take care, call your family, tell them you love them.
wazoo!
-Mr. Write