Hey, this is a slightly older poem I wrote, but I’d rather it not just waste away in my notes app, so here it is:
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My spine is crooked, bent, and cracked,
All burdened by the love I lack,
Until I found you resting back
Against the fountain I once packed
With pennies from my younger days,
When joy could be afforded—
But now the sun’s great shining rays,
‘Pon touching clouded eyes, they forfeit.
You, however, do not care;
You, despite this, smile with flare;
You outshine the lamppost’s glare;
You’re amongst the sights most fair.
Sliding up to make acquaintance,
You can hardly hold your glee—
You engage with the impatience
That by chance bemuses me.
‘Fore I speak a word of parlance,
You impart to me a gift:
You bestow to me a garnet,
Shining like the gold we sift.
Turning to your words you question,
Hoping I return the gesture—
I have failed to give impression
That I’ve nought, as per my vesture.
Perhaps you see in me another,
Sparkle ‘midst the smog;
And though your sympathies do smother
Me with schmalz, I play along.
I lead you by the arm with haste
To bonfires burning at the beach.
The merrymaking makes no waste,
And yet you feel so out of reach.
Flametips burned like fireflies,
Dancing gay before your eyes,
Twinkling ‘twixt your occuli,
Like shining stars upon the sky.
I want your light, I want your smile,
I want the optimistic you;
I want to sit and stay awhile,
With eyes that see but pleasant views.
Yet when I turn, you’ve gone away—
You’re sitting at the water’s edge.
And staring out across the bay,
You look as if upon a ledge.
With fear of loss, your way I rush,
And side by side, you’re safe and sound.
You’re holding ashes in your clutch.
The message, silent, does resound.
“I’ve nothing of the earth to give,
It’s never given gems to me.
Fire more so fills the sieve
Of wanting and depravity.”
“Yet if you love me,” I continue,
“I could love you in return.
I could keep the hearth for you
And let the fire ever burn.”
“With what light would we grow old?”
Quoth you ‘pon the ocean’s sands,
“Embers only you could hold,
So judging by your calloused hands”
So sudden I should seldom think it,
Though you’re apt to be so cold:
You and all your twinkling trinkets,
Shining silver, platinum, gold
Are all just metal in the end.
How daft of me to play pretend
When I’ve no rubies I can rend
From my own pockets, nor a friend’s
Yes you have riches mineral
(The best I have is all in salt)
And though my corvid’s cove is dismal,
Cataracts are not my fault.
I see no shine, just dirt and grime
Upon the lonely streets I walk.
I’ve worked with coal and worked in mines,
The brightest I have seen is chalk.
Though if I were to seize mundane
Then would it maybe be enough
To cost more than a diamond’s grain
Alone against the blackened rough?
I do not know, but I can try
To grasp the pebbles I can find,
Then rip the rocks from their design,
And break the boulders way up high.
Then I shall carry forth this burden,
Though, it must of course feel lighter,
As apposed to inanition
Of a want for something brighter.
And when I find you lonesome later,
Resting by the fountain,
I’ll lay my stones upon your feet—
Call it love, and build a mountain.
