"My final offering to you,
The words that I've weaved in life,
The little things of fires and smoke,
Burn me down with your passion, for that's all a poem spoke..."
I borrowed a few of your words to tell you of the spaces in which I breathed while you were busy immortalizing me in between the lines of your poetry. All these years, I was only a muse to you and never a person. You only liked me when I dressed in your favourite metaphors and alliterations but never when I put on my favourite dress.
"All the gists of sparkling madness,
Words forming verses and more,
Your smile says it all,
Of stories and lonely shores..."
I longed to breathe in the air of love but you trapped me in your verses. You always had words for my mess while I kept hoping for a solution. You wrote haikus about my dreams while they lost themselves in the elegies. You crafted melodies about our mundane life while I kept rubbing the stones of efforts to rekindle our lost spark.
If my borrowed words mean the same as yours did to you, if this fistful of nostalgia paints the same picture for you as your words did, I want to tell you that I will keep you alive in my memories as you kept me breathing in your poems.
- Ish, wondering which glue would be strong enough for the bleeding heart...
YOU ARE READING
Reverie
Poetry~ if not between the lines, where else can I find my peace? ~ Trigger warnings applied || Poetry Collection ||
