before we shuffle off our mortal coil.
Hastily and in rhythm.
Above the noise of immortal angels.
My beautiful girl
you are the sweet taste of light at the edge of the darkness.
My world would be nothing without you.
Atlas
I'd hate to see you walk alone
when the world has fallen into Armageddon.
Where are all your angels?
Who is to protect you in this wasteland?
Even if all the angels should fall,
I'd do for you
what devils do for sinners.
Like Atlas holding up your world
until my hands give in to mortal aches,
and my back is hunched from the pain.
But yet, never letting go.
Your love will be the only redemption for this devil.
Dear, you,
my dear beautiful incandescent firefly-souled-you.
Dear nocturnal creature who keeps me waiting, and
staring at the night sky;
I've stayed up, a 100 night
hoping you'd drop from a falling star.
A star that would bring you to me.
Together we'd be like birds chirping
flying in the wind.
With the air bringing us together
because we flew, unafraid to fall.
Dabbling The Ineffable
"Sad" is what I see when I see you.
It comes in colors, but fades in sounds.
I think it's something between a "goodbye" and an
"I'm sorry I hurt you".
But who knows, feelings are hard to describe.
Sometimes it's clear, like a simple aha moment; when
I knew you liked me.
And other times it's hard, like when I couldn't find
anything to say to you, and I end up being unbearably
and overtly shallow like a kiddie pool.
And right then, the only words on my mind were; you
are the only poem I had dreamed of writing but I got
stuck somewhere between the thought of you and
picking up a quill.
It would surely be unfortunate when the moment
comes and I am frozen in it unable to move,
cause I was anxious from overthinking
something so simple as love.
Wild
Last night we shot a silver hook onto the stars,
and right then I saw a fire lit in your eyes.
Like we could be safe even if we fell
From this terrible height.
You are 12, and there's a girl
you like.
From her lips you can see stars falling,
and every time you try to catch them, she just won't let you.
And the story goes; that you stumbled home crying, love-struck and unrequited.
She's special.
She's like a song from the sirens,
or a name engraved on me, like on a tombstone.
We are inseparable, but in the way the bodies of dead poets remains lost forever in the sea.
Love's Spectrum
The colors of our beautiful and sometimes tragic love can never be quite captured.
It's the shining red arrows in Cupid's quiver.
It's the yellowish-red flame Prometheus stole for humanity,
the purple passion shared by Thisbe and her tragic lover Pyramus.
It's the soft kisses of life Pygmalion breath into the marble skin of his dear Galatea.
We do all this, and so much for love.
