#455
The exhilaration
of cycling over the
Brooklyn bridge,
i did it,
it meant something,
i made it,
crossed the river,
to visit and return,
to find you uptown,
the wind in my hair
my gut in my throat
nothing was as perfect
as your laugh
echoing down
the midnight street.
#456
Sometimes i can
feel their tears
boiling to the surface
like a dowsing stick
or emotional barometre
if it was only appropriate
to leap out and embrace
at will, if it was but only possible
to squeeze hurt and sorrow away,
i find it almost impossible not to try.
#457
Whiskey bit whispers
coarse from your lips
the bitterness
from your cigarettes
texture a failed future in ash,
sloppy sentences mean everything
to the dreamers aged younger than the night
still holding hope brighter than the light,
still young enough, to not give up
on prospects that promise nothing but flames,
withering whimpers, painful pasts,
savour the sweetest mistakes
wash them away with more scalding sips.
#458
Heaven, the realm of light
Hell the realm of fire,
the overlooked source
of the radiant bathing waters,
a marriage, a balance,
a metaphor to daos during
our walk home.
#459
Stretch little young one,
cry and coo,
bask in the cradling arms,
sleep, smile,
your days have begun,
a beloved new family member
a beloved new son.
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