Broken strings & Pretty things

The world, seen through a young girl's eyes.

Archive for the category “Poetry”

For Dad.

I’m trapped behind the barriers
screaming out your name
but you’re too far down the platform
just please don’t get on that train.

Hazy mornings are the most free
before the day rears his ugly face
before reality hurtles in
I cherish this bland taste.

But then my mind falls to sliding doors
to final words whispered through cracks
to last strokes of blue skin
to twenty past eight.

Some goodbyes can a outstretch a lifetime
like how I could have stayed all night
kissing your cheek, holding your hand
how leaving would have always been too soon.

I wish that you never got on that train
now all I have left of you are tracks.

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‘So happy I could die’.

Hurtling through the velvet skyline
this moment stretches, making us infinite.
Lungs too filled with air to cope
to even blink
to even mutter.
Here, I could lay my body.

Green crystal waters and lofty pines;
purple mountains eclipse Continental sun.
We soak our skin until everything floods out.
Letting the water pull us in
just enough.
Here, you and I could lay our bodies.

Glittered words and glowing lights
eyes wide in a fixed bloom
they speak words no one can hear,
dancing alone in a sea of pulsating figures.
Here, we could lay our bodies.

And if it weren’t for outstretched hands
and garlands of long-cherished names;
If I could just sink
without leaving an unexplained grave
I would lay my body here,
Drenched in this golden exuberance.

(image via tumblr)

I wouldn’t.

I would wait for the day that the sun shines its iridescence
into the shadows of your face
And beckons you in with all its glory

I would wait for the day where the raindrops
are the rivers that stain your face
And that pain is a long forgotten handshake
of a former acquaintance

I would wait for the day when the last goodbyes
are the ones that are scheduled
And that the first hellos
come with their own warranties

And I would dream that you do not once more
rest your head in a blanket of sorrows
or stand in a crowd with no name
or miss another turning
or feel another scorch of heart break.

But I simply could not. Nor would I.
For the very blood in my veins knows

That pain is empathy and strength and compassion
and travesty is a breaker of the body but a healer of the soul
it will shake you, and mould you to the point that
even your insides are made of more
than Demeter’s simple building blocks

Anguish unites but brokenness divides
Because no ounce of happiness will ever
undermine the prevail or content
of the injured whose wounds will not be licked.

Berlin.

Sometimes I wonder whether the moon misses the sun.

I wonder whether there truly is silence in space
Maybe instead the stars themselves
Are psychedelic whispers transcending
Across the velvet skyline.

Or maybe the moon does not actually miss the sun.

Because maybe there is happiness in knowing
That they are moving in a parallel waltz
That maybe just sharing the same atmosphere
Is enough.

Because one day each celestial glide
With each side’s unshakable zeal
Will one day meet

In the warmth and brightness
Of a silver eclipse.

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