Author: poetryfest

I write my love to you
From the stardust
And the grains of sand along the beach
From the dew of the mountain air
An atom from within my soul
I write I love you
Using the drops of rain
I make a canvas of love
Written in the stars
So that when the fates align
And our souls reconnect in the sky
And on the leafs of the majestic trees from the land
Our love will forever be etched
Within our essence and will forever remain
Two lovers woven together
From now until eternity

Before they started
by ripping out the roots
And digging up the land
There were people here

Before they gutted houses
to drain the memories
of what used to be
There were people here

Before buildings were
stacked so high that they
blocked the warmth of time
There were people here

Before they mined so deep
that their extractions
crumbled what wasn’t theirs
There were people here

Before their rot seeped into
sacred grounds, spoiling
the fruit before it could grow
There were people here

Before you continue your
destructive rampage, ruining the
remnants of those who remain, remember
There are people here

yes, we admire
golden hues of autumn leaves,
decorating those earthy brown,
dying twigs,
so close to the nemesis of nature’s play
with the last of sunshine’s ray
they fall like you and us all
but listen closely to
those icy northern winds
they are chanting magical spells,
whispering in our ears,
“the genesis of your love
shall see a new morning after
the last of winter’s clock”
we asked,
“lovely words you speak,
but tell us, how the winter
can be bearable when lovers
are gone and we stand alone
in knee-deep piles of snow?”
not one answer or a blow
but falling white sparkles,
bejeweling our teardrops
oh, what beauty lies
in a season’s deepest depression

Waking up every morning on repeat
At the same time everyday my many alarms ring
I can never expect what the day will bring
Tests, quizzes, assignments on assignments
The same day over and over again
I never want to get out of bed
I can never seem to get ahead
Telling myself the night before I would wake up early
Always running behind to get to school on time
Struggling to focus on completing my work
Teachers giving test every week
Making time to study and still failing
More missing assignments then complete assignments
Distractions are everywhere
I plan on doing my work then something comes up
Why can’t i just complete my work
I tell myself I should take things more serious
Stressed out and tired by the end of each day
Hoping just to make it to the end of may

Do you hear that?
The sound of the cows mooing
The chickens clucking
The ducks quacking
The goats baaing
The pigs oinking
The animals are all hungry
The farmer comes
He fills the water up and the food
The animals are happy and full
The only sound you hear is the wind blowing softly

I can’t see the sun
I think I miss you too much
I think I stared for too long
as you eclipsed above me
glittering, to make me see
you’ve sprouted fruit like a peach tree
to hand one out to me
to branch out into space
become the solar system’s devotee
to imprison me
in the grief of losing
what I wouldn’t have lost
if I hadn’t been refusing
and my voice is beat
stinging from solar heat
I can’t sing a song of deceit
to convince you I’m incomplete
The moon is so blessed
but it shares no blessings with me
You only travel down to earth
to weep into the hearth
burning the pictures of you
when the sun was still in view

The year cycles from
Winter to spring and then back—
Love can be like that.

You bring me roses
Just by being in my life…
At last, I’m lucky.

Nature has a way,
They say, of finding a path…
As I did to you.

Hug me close as the
Leaves fall like raindrops or tears
And I will feel warm.

Spring, summer, fall, winter—
We see seasons of nature
Mirrored in Man’s eyes.

Grief is an echo
a sound that circles back
slipping through hollow trees
or the hinge of a door
that sighs but never shuts.

It lingers
thick as wood smoke clinging to walls
sharp as rain on sunburned ground.
An open window offers air
but the breeze carries nothing
only the hollow weight
of absence.

Grief is the weight of loose ends
a shoelace dragging in mud
a sentence left mid-breath
a jar of honey gone hard in the cupboard.

You press against it
try to hide it
slip it beneath the floorboards
where its hum still finds you.
It stretches
casting long shadows
changing shape when you re not looking.

One day it places a feather in your hand.
Light unbroken.
Not a gift
but a reminder
that something fragile remains.
That you remain.

Grief doesn’t disappear.
It softens
folding into the faraway sound of a train
or the smudge of breath
on a winter window.
It leaves its mark
quietly
not fading
but no longer a weight.

An overripe peach is sweetest, softest and
before you nip into it, hold it to your mouth, and
brush the peach hairs over your lips.
Where the stem ends, open it up with the tip of your finger.
The roundness like two shoulders to
rest on.
This is the treasure I’m seeking.
A rhythm of bite and suck from the tenderness
of its flesh, the juice of its fruit, the bite of its pit.
A sensation of taste and aroma, one that stains
the lips with a subtle and insatiable scent.
This is the anatomy of a stone fruit.

I say let’s count:
How many times a day, a night,
a year a heart beats.
I wonder in how many of those it meets
A happy place.
Thus it I would embrace
Even if those were very few.
Or else I should learn to sew
Myself a different life contour?
My sweet rainbow, my sweetest lullaby
I stopped today to tell you why
I’ve missed the days when you and I
We were running in this world
Tell me, should I feel old?
I say let’s count:
How many times a day, a night,
a year my heart beats
On the thought of you…
Then I would learn I do not
Have to change a thing!