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A poem- a puzzle,
An enigma written in blue or yellow or red.
Words- a needle
Piercing through the paper, the canvas.
Concepts and ideas become instruments,
The cry of a clarinet waltzes with the frailty of a piano.
Emotions become imagery,
Lone lilies and melancholic raindrops
Catenate an illustration of despondency.
The colors, the sounds, the thoughts-
Fade into feelings of confined intimacy
Fade into feelings of hopeless happiness
Fade into feelings of love.
How do I write words into an ending?
How do I write words into romance?
Why do I feel so happy when I see you
But also feel sad?
Aristocratic sophistication turns to cheerful simplicity.
A rush of joy and fear and sadness races through me when I think of you,
But neither prose nor stanza
Rhyme nor rhythm
Word nor image
Or even sound,
Can express the pain of a hopeless romance.
Love- a puzzle,
A tragedy written in light pinks and dark blues.
Feelings- a needle,
Piercing through the heart, the soul.
Thoughts and hopes become instruments,
An orchestra of lovelorn exhilarations.
Emotions become imagery
An outstretched hand drowning in the sea,
Reaching for something, anything.
The colors, the sounds, the thoughts-
Fade into confined intimacy
Fade into hopeless happiness
Fade into bittersweet poetry.
When is it ok to say I love you?
Because it hurts so much not to.
When Neverending Ends
Written on February 14th, 2019.
YOU ARE READING
Occultism
Poetry|Started 2/17/19| A collection of thoughts, ideas, and hopes. @all rights reserved.
