A little collection of poetry

Are they the souls that died long

ago, but remind us to live?

The souls that appear to dwindle

in the light of the day, but

are the light of the darkness

despite being a graveyard of suns.

Is he the blue that seems so

lonely, but allows dreamers to love?

Sometimes white or grey or red,

he’s the chameleon of the night.

Sometimes he is whole, and

sometimes he half hides in the infinite

vastness of his empty home.

Are we the insignificant that believed

we were more, but will never last?

The ones that live now but not for

long, we are dust in the wind,

barely a fingerprint on the mud

we have created our home on,

in our demise we are forgotten

to the universe non-existent. 

A colleague broke up with their partner

so I gave them my hand

A cousin was involved in a car accident

so I gave them my foot

A friend lost their mother

so I gave them my legs

A sibling came home weeping

so I gave them my arms

A mother returned a widow

so I gave them the rest

I kept only one thing.

-

A boy came in smiling

so I gave him my heart.

And in his possession I still

existed, somehow

A boy forgot to place me

in the window for the light,

I wilted in the shade

and no one gave me anything. 

Imagine you are water,

you are the power of the sea

with its vastness, strength

in a single rain drop, that is

both land and sky, so wild,

you can venture beyond

your ocean through the mud

creating veins like your footsteps,

you are so free

you are boundless.

Water trapped in a bottle,

This is how patience feels.  

I must embed like seeds

of flowers that will grow

the weight of your arm.

I shall remember like dreams

caught between my teeth

the warmth of your breath.

I will repeat like videos

jutting on a single image

the pull at my stomach.

I am embracing you again

in the memories I hold to me

the fitting of our bodies.

Voilà, voilà,

there’s a word I want to find,

and when I find it, it will feel 

Voilà, voilà,

there’s a moment I want to breathe

and when it surrounds me I’ll whisper

Voilà, voilà,

there it is

there you have it. 

There are types of plants

that grow back after withering

or dehydrating, or being murdered.

Not only the pests, the weeds

but the beautiful kinds.

Then there are those

that need replanting.

Irises; they know the truth.

Once withered you

will not bloom again

in the same space of soil

Trust can apologise,

but trust can not be

replanted in these families.