All of the looks
The words and kisses
Before I even knew
I’d fallen into the trap
Lost in a present
That looked like the past
•
All of the questions
The answers I feared
And did not want
They were the truth
The pain I needed
To finally move on
©️Christina de Vries
Surrounded by ruins of past love
Her walls built then shattered
Over and over again
Now they were too heavy to lift
The pieces no longer fit together
They were broken
She was bruised
So instead of trying to build
A wall filled with cracks
She wrapped herself in layers
Of protective veil
Spun out of memories and reminders
Through them she could still see
Her fingers still touch
Her lips still taste
And slowly over time
The bruises healed
Veils melted into skin
And she spun herself a new one
With room to spare
For future love
For them to share
●
©Christina de Vries
His eyes. Dreaming. Lost.
The first thing I noticed.
He was standing there.
Looking out of his window.
Staring into forever.
He didn’t notice me.
Or so I thought.
*
A flower. Blooming. Beautiful.
The next day it was there.
Bright yellow. Alone.
A yellow face of petals.
Waving to the world from his window.
And I couldn’t stop smiling.
*
Red. Intense. Inviting.
Third day I put it there.
My own flower inspired by his.
Response to an unspoken wish.
A never said promise.
A dream placed perfectly
In his window. And in mine.
*
Burning. Romantic. Two.
The fourth day he lit them.
One on each side.
Lighting up the flower.
Making it beam after sunset.
I kept going back to watch it all night
Until the candles burned down.
*
Smiling. Waving. His eyes.
Day five and for the first time
They met mine.
Frozen in place and unsure.
Could this be a dream?
His hand rested on the glass.
I smiled and waved back.
*
Awkward. Exciting. Nervous.
Day six and there was darkness.
Nothing to see in his window.
He wasn’t there.
I put on a dress and left.
My window turned dark as well.
None of us home. None alone.
*
Memories. Time. His touch.
Days and days and days.
I look out my window
To where it all started.
Other flowers. Other faces.
He doesn’t live there anymore.
Our window. Two flowers. One yellow and one red.
*
©Christina de Vries – Geek Heaven
This poem gave me goosebumps all over! The brutal honesty in her words had me struggling to find words of my own.
Enjoy!
I’ve decided to be more active in the poetry community on Youtube and I’m going to be uploading a lot of poems (something old and something new) and there will be monthly book reviews as well where I will gather up all the reviews I write here into a video.
So be sure to check it out, subscribe and click the thumbs up button 🙂
I wish you all a creatively amazing day!
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.
Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:
I talk of love –a scholar’s parrot may talk Greek–
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.
Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back
From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking.
For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains
You give me are more precious than all other gains.
She is away and I cannot do what I want.
Other faces pale when I get close.
She is away and I cannot breathe her in.
The space her leaving has created
I have attempted to fill
With bodies that numbed upon touching,
Among them I expected her opposite,
And found only forgeries.
Her wholeness I know to be a fiction of my making,
Still I cannot dismiss the longing for her;
It is a craving for sensation new flesh
Cannot wholly calm or cancel,
It is perhaps for more than her.
At night above the parks the stars are swarming.
The streets are thick with nostalgia;
I move through senseless routine and insensitive chatter
As if her going did not matter.
She is away and I cannot breathe her in.
I am ill simply through wanting her.
What is love? ’tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty,–
Then come kiss me, Sweet and twenty,
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
But Time drives flocks from field to fold;
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward Winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither–soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,–
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy Love.
But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy Love.
Christina de Vries 