When the ink drys up
And the writer words go missing
who’s going to talk about the two lovers kissing
in songs and poetry
who’s going to write the sonnets the verses
who’s going to tell tales that are fully immersive
ancient lands of fiction
A thriller that’s addictive
when the ink dries
will we find
the stories in our own time…
Magic can be drawn from
the spaces under your bed
where there are night and shadows
there’s magic instead
like the stars that burn
dark energy forms
we are the universe born
scribbled chaos in ink
sinking into depths of imagination
and sensations
magic that is a promise
yet to be made
An obsidian blade
that protects us from harm
cuts through curses and dark arms
unseen
we need the shadows as much as the stars
for contrast is what we are.
If we could read all the love letters
the poetry projected over the years
the ink would form the night
the words stars
the sun our intention to love
Would rise every time we wrote the words
the sky and birds
would scream we are alive
I would use the paper and poems we wrote
to drop from the sky
letters and prayers from us to god
to breach the void between us
The elation of creation
within our United Nations.
Scars won’t forget
Living life with habits and daily regrets
I lost you in the sands of time
only your voice remembered
like the days tender sunlit kiss
but my television brain won’t remember this
that it came to an end before it started
and those days are long time departed
the spark in my heart
won’t leave
this aches longing to breathe
but I cannot deceive myself in to thinking
we were anything but just friends
the hour grows late, I just pretend
I can’t send you that last message
that says this ends
because your voice haunts me
you are my tattoo, my scar.