Significance – A poem

You are a chapter of significance enclosed in the story of me,
That was the chapter, and
Sometimes I write words and reread them
And struggle to find who wrote them.
Maybe my poems will never be read by you
Because I didn’t write them for you to read.
You are a mystery I will never solve because I am no detective
And I will never perfectly write you
Because you are not the one I am supposed to perfectly write.
You will always be significant,
Because you are teetering on the edge,
You are a question until I stop asking
But I am deciding to let it remain unanswered.

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To beginnings middles and ends – A poem

You say we ended
While still in the middle,
But if it’s over
Wasn’t that the end?
We’re in the middle of our lives
The middle of our growth
The middle of our timeline
In the middle of learning both
Who we are with each other and on our own.
I don’t know who I am yet
How can I ever expect to know who you are?

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Chasing dreams – A poem

Maybe our dreams are more voices in our heads than we think.
Louder than we hear,
Until we choose to listen.

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The depths of tomorrow – A poem

You give me memorable moments
In unmemorable days.
My yesterdays described by conversations,
The sound of you saying my name,
And times I thought of you
When listening to the rain.

With you, I can be everything I am
And you show me everything you are.
The depths of you and the depths of me
Are almost parallel to the depths
Of tomorrow…
Utterly and entirely
Infinite.

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The curious way time runs away – A poem

I think I worry about time too much.
Living alongside the rhythmic and repetitious strides
Of the backdrop of humanity
Seems to fill my head with it.
With time.
The nonstop tick-tock is locked into my footsteps
Into the beats per minute of my heart
Blinking numbers or the hypnotic swirl
Of hands that spin too fast in the corner of my eye
But not at all when staring them in the face.
Maybe I worry about time too much because
I’m aware of being trapped in it
But I can’t see it to get out.

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Silence

Silence is more than quiet. Quiet is the sweeping hush of the stars pressing fingers to their lips so the world stops thinking. But silence steals even the most subtle of sounds and fills the air with everything else.

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The perils of a mind’s imitations of life – A poem

I have not yet learned to notice
How time jumps
Or how the clocks don’t tick

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Remains – A poem

When I disintegrate into space
What will be left
Is the remains of you
And all the people that made me.

My scattered ashes
Will be seeds
For not just the flower of me
But a garden.

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Adrift – A poem

Maybe I’m a drifter
Drifting

I’ve seen so many drift

Yet
I let them

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