Mulberry Trees

I think of you,

Through the mulberry trees,

Low and deep,

Like your love for me,

Berries as full as your lips,

Seeds as hard as your words,

The sweetness of your touch,

Drips down my lips,

Like the blood of a bully,

Who has done too much,

I lay under you,

And you shade me

From rays determined to darken my face,

I pluck the best parts of you,

From callous fingers red and blistered,

That strum taut strings,

That gives your voice its cadence to ring,

When your branches are bare,

And has lost all its fruit to share,

I’ll till the weeds that cross your feet,

Waiting til winter’s edge encounters its spring defeat,

And think of you through the mulberry trees,

Where the sun sits low,

And the moon begins to sing.

Monet

Like the brush of a Monet,
You are loose,
But your colors are not as honest,
Bright as you may be,
You bleed indiscriminate,
I painted you well,
A masterpiece some may say,
Captured your beauty in an artistic haze,
Reds become golds,
Blues fold into bands of judgements,
Whispers of delusions,
Canvas all that you are:
Unfinished and unrepentant,
Unmoving and dependent,
Hands littered with the casualties of making you beautiful,
Lines become blurred with impatience;
Naked with prudence,
Visions betrayed by the tinkering of emotions relayed,
Fingers moving with a hint of fidelity,
Until you are everything I think you are.

Soar

Soar

In Winter,
The cold engulfed me like an enraged bear,
My head tilted to the sky,
And saw your eyes,
They were all your eyes,
Burning full and alive,
Taunting and seducing,
Lofty and unforgiving,
And I cried like a baby needing its mother,
Because those lights beyond the clouds were far;
The same distance as your love for me,
Like a mother bird I let you go,
Hoping you would soar,
Higher than my heart could ever take you,
I asked God if he could hear me,
And I felt a slight touch upon my shoulder,
It was the wind,
Blowing a lullaby,
Low and deep.

Clouds

You tore my heart out,
And that’s ok,
I wasn’t using it anyway,
The holes you bored,
Have closed,
Now they murmur a sigh,
Maybe of relief,
Maybe of the freeing reconciliation leaves:
Like a cold brew during the summer tunes,
Or dust that blows against sleeping dunes,
Out of disappointment beauty blooms,
And you gave me more than I could ever chew,
I grew too use to your taste;
Forgiven my taste buds for their apparent lack of loyalty,
With fingers I rubbed you away;
Hands sprinkled with graphite and sweat,
And balled you up like a school house paper filled with regrets,
I let you soar on wings of air,
Rising higher and higher like a ballon on a birthday’s afternoon,
Freeing helium to find its way home;
Letting the clouds have their way with you.

I, Ran.

The sun breathes a relief,
As I overturned the dust of you in my hands,
And let this gentle breeze take you away;
You didn’t me love the way I wanted you to,
So I ran,
and ran,
Till I couldn’t run any more.
The soles of my feet,
Grew as hard as my heart,
I buried your pictures,
I burned you down,
And I ran,
I ran.
I sketched you out in dirt,
Brushed you away,
Threw spit into the air,
And watched it rain down,
And I ran,
I ran.
My muscles grew tired,
I had to slow down,
Watching you hold on to me,
As I wrestled you to the ground,
I ran,
I ran.
I will continue to run,
Till the sweat of your memories,
Is dried like the morning dew,
And the Mountains peaks growls like a lion,
Roaring the breathe of me steadily into a slumber;
The cool springs quenches my thirst for you.