Forgotten Conversations

Conversations

~*~*~

With a voice so haunting
Like a prophecy spoken aloud
Comes a whisper from the depths
Of a past I was once fond of
Meandering into the crevices
And cracks of my long forsaken heart
Like an unwanted guest,
To stay, but to never depart.

The fountainhead of time mingles
With threads of three colors
Woven into a delicate fabric
Entwined in an embrace, fluid
Changing, mixing, merging
Yet always remaining the same
The form has a taste of permanence
And a ring of eternity, going up in flames.

Stuck like a broken record,
Cacophonous is the bell
That tolls every morning at dawn
The best moments of the past
Have been recorded over
With silence and a black screen
The memories fade to the background
The smiles can no longer be seen.

Vultures come to feast on the carcass
Left behind by words once said
Meant to be obliterated by the listener,
But forced to live on in the dead
It takes two to forget a memory
Or one, if the other never speaks
But when voices whisper in my ear
They find their words cannot be obsolete.

Maybe the words fade to dust
Hidden under layers of faltered trust
And time cannot change
The ash of these remains
Dangling from a troubled mind
So broken and so unkind
And I am always hanging on
To these forgotten conversations, so long.

~*~*~

I’m submitting the above for Thursday Poets’ Rally Week 39, hosted by Jingle.

Dear Dad

~*~*~

Headstrong was one of many words,
That came to mind,
As I sat thinking of you.

I still remember how,
You held my hand,
As I was a little girl of only four.

You were always there,
To pick me up when I fell,
And you always bandaged the wounds.

You gave the greatest gift to me,
My love for books and thirst for knowledge,
I still remember those evenings reading with you.

You always hid your pain and suffering,
That we may only have reasons to smile,
And you could smile through us.

I still remember the swings,
The scent of eucalyptus in the air,
The ducks in the pond.

I know often I was difficult,
Always put up a fight,
When all you wanted was the best for me.

Yet now I look back and feel thankful,
That you were there to show the way,
When all I saw was darkness.

I always look up to you,
Though as the years went by,
I couldn’t show it any more.

I know often you must think,
That I am selfish, and don’t care,
But only I know how much pain I feel.

You have always been my hero, Dad,
And I will always look up to you with respect,
Even though I find it so hard to say so.

Thank you for being there for me.

~*~*~

Demons

Demons of the Past

~*~*~

The demons of our past stand naked,
Running free through the fields of our mind.
And we hide, we hide from ourselves,
This past which cannot be denied.

The ranger passes through, singing,
And the mist does slowly disappear.
Yet the demons go on cowering,
In these songs we hold so dear.

Raging through the wild dust storms,
These demons bring naught but strife.
Lurking, waiting, to pounce upon us,
As we go about trying to live this short life.

The rain pours, and the willow whispers,
Yet all that can be heard are the voices.
These demons, always screaming in the head,
Of the past, and once made choices.

Exhaustion seeps into the mind so silently,
Exacerbating the insanity within these thoughts.
The demons feed with such power,
The battle seems lost even before it has been fought.

Somewhere along the paths of destruction,
Lie the shadows that evolve from the light.
And these demons striving so hard to kill from within us,
Too must die at the hands of the fading night.

~*~*~

I bow down to the demons,
For I was but a truant,
Waiting in the darkness,
Never stepping into the light.

~*~*~

And fellow bloggers and readers, I am back! I am just too much in love with writing to take a break. Glad the phase is over, glad that I could make up my mind.

Altercations

Forgotten

~*~*~

A bloodless strife hung heavy in the air,
The strain of which left me weakened.
The flash of anger, the screaming,
Were reduced to echoes in my head,
As I silently watched the blood drip,
Down my hands, like blade on ice.

The world gave a shudder,
As the will of my being broke apart.

It was the wounds that tore me apart,
Growing like a cancerous tumor.
The scars of loving you, never quite erased,
Off the face of my stitched up heart.
Oh the anger, it was always the anger,
Or it was the psychosis of my mind?

The lands cracked under pressure,
As the strain of living, deep inside, surfaced.

Weary grows the idle mind, weary with rust,
The cracks deepen, till it crumbles into dust.
When was the first weapon planted,
Deep beneath the layers of this love?
It was a silent killer, slowly spreading like a virus,
Until it consumed all there was to take.

The oceans fight a raging storm,
The ship is sinking, down, down it goes.

There remains no structure to lean on,
No spark of life to keep me hanging.
Falling, I am falling, deep into the ocean,
As the waves crash me upon the rocky shore.
Your voice whispers inside my mind,
“It was only the calm before the gathering tempest.”

The bullets shoot across the battlefield,
I was hit long before it rained.

Life is a battlefield, which never sleeps,
For even in dreams, the bombs fly artfully.
The haunting sound of your silence overwhelms,
As I writhe in pain, waiting as the tears stream down my face.
If only you understood the working of my mind,
Or maybe I was the one who never saw the torment of yours.

The volcano erupts in a flare of burning vice,
Smothering completely all in its path.

Your scrutiny of my being, of my body, mind, and soul,
Was only a dissection of that which you do not know.
For you never chose to see me as more than a shadow of myself,
But termed what you did see as the body of a shadow.
If you see the fire as a form of destruction,
You will only have the ability to destroy.

And destroy you did, with your single act of kindness,
That fine thread which tied my heart to yours.

~*~*~

Forsaken

Sad Cat

~*~*~

My only sin was to love you unconditionally,
But the price I am now paying.
I shall not love ever again,
As long as I take this breath of mortal life,
For in me is dead, the fire of life.
Only empty cold stone continues to exist.

He was a man who calculated the value of all
With the weight of paper and metal.

I must go on, as life is a gift far too precious,
A gift I would discard,
If only I could weigh it out with gold.
But life is far beyond the tangible we seek,
It can never be bought back,
Nor can one life be replaced with another.

He was a man who knew no sentiment,
Except for that of his own.

Must I feel for my entire life,
This agony I feel slowly poisoning my heart?
It seeps beneath my skin, burning like acid,
Killing me softly,
But only in the mind and soul,
As my body lies untouched.

He was a man who had everything one could want,
But valued nothing except the immaterial.

I am physically alive,
What good is a body enslaved by mental pain?
No, I am dead in every aspect,
Dead as the rotting wood in the backyard,
Dead for the maggots of the mind and heart to take over,
And eat, till nothing of me is left.

He was a man who was a victim of greatness,
Such that he could see nothing beyond himself.

There is only an emptiness,
A void were life should have been.
The noise of the vacuum becomes deafening,
As it grasps onto every aspect of my life.
This broken heart has consumed all,
Such that even the bowels find themselves empty.

He was a man who towered over giants,
The very giants who made him a man.

Where tears should be, I have only dry cheeks.
Where a smile paints itself, the paint runs dry.
Where passion should be, exists only apathy.
Where love should be, only indifference is supplied.
For it is the emptiness in me which speaks aloud,
Emptiness which lives, and which shall die.

He was a man who knew no boundaries,
Save for the limitations of his empty heart.

I can feel a phantom pain where my heart should have been,
The heart which was torn out
And shredded a million times over.
This empty pain shall be with me always,
Haunting me till the ends of time,
As once amputated, it can never be regrown.

He was a man who knew how to live,
But never knew the feeling of being alive.

What is this emptiness which has consumed me?
Leaving behind regrets for me to feed on,
And I am pondering, wondering, where did I go wrong?
But the answers remain hidden.
And so I live a mere shadow of a life,
All because my only sin was to love you unconditionally.

He was a man whom I once dared to love,
Until he chose to leave me forsaken.

~*~*~

Unrequited

Thorns

~*~*~

‘Twas the song of a solitary nightingale,
The sadness and beauty satiated the air with warmth.
Ne’er hath this heart within me been so lively,
As when thou looked into mine eyes and saw my soul.

Oh, this evanescence of beautiful dreams,
Had they lingered even the length of a moment longer,
Their beauty would have faded into the night,
Leaving a soft mist in place of these dreams of mine heart.

When I dream of thee in the wisp of the night,
I feel thy presence around me, e’en in mine heart.
And I wish the night stretches on for eternity,
That I might feel thy friendship wrapping around me always.

Thou art the cherry blossoms in early spring,
Showering this earthen beauty with thy soft petals.
The branches heavy with thy goodness and love,
And a promise, in the heart of thy admirer, for a new dawn.

The reflections on the flowing river, of a sun recently risen,
The birds singing their morning songs of joy.
Unquenchable thirst for time to come to a standstill,
Mine heart divided between my wish and the will of thy mind.

Thy voice lingers in the air, my thoughts inundated by thee,
My voice beckons thee to hold me in thine arms.
I wait, eagerly, desperately, to hear the faintest reply,
But the silence, so deafening, returns me not a sound.

The moonlight illuminates, when the sun hath set,
Only thy voice can brighten the shadows of mine heart.
Silently I pine in the darkness, for a glimmer of light,
Fading, falling, into these endless depths.

If thou hadst known the turmoil of mine heart,
Would thou hast left me more than the touch of thy breath?
Nay, to thee, I was but a stranger, no different from another
To me, thou wast mine only reason to smile.

~*~*~

The Happy Days

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I still remember the day these photographs were taken. It seems like another life or a dream too good to be true. It was a dream too good to be true. Those were the happy days, that are no more.

~*~*~

Muse

‘Twas a soft song in the air,
That whispered dreams into mine ears.
Butterflies stroked the summer rays,
With the beat of their gentle wings.
These dreams did fill mine heart,
With little joys meant to disappear.
The warmth of the wildflowers,
Did touch this lost soul from within.

The softness of thy voice,
Struck a chord in mine heart.
Thou lovingly tuned the strings of my soul,
And made me thy muse much loved.
The sky blushed from adoring innocence,
As the music of mine heart hung heavy in the air.
The sweetness of thy song,
Filled my world with everlasting hope.

Honeybees suckled in pools of nectar,
Flowers grew brighter at every passing day.
Dewdrops on the grass glistened in the morning,
Dancing to the melody that filled the sweet air.
Thou played thy muse so lovingly,
In tune with the song of thy heart.
Ne’er hadst the world heard such love,
Sung from the common core of two souls come together.

Thou wast an artist, in love with thy instrument,
Caressing her strings gently, lest they break.
All were in awe of thy heart’s warming music,
Most of all thy own muse who sang.
Thou ne’er let another touch her,
She sang only the will of thine heart.
A queen she was, in the palace of thy verse,
Thou inspired reverence in her eyes.

With use, the best of things, wear out,
As didst the muse of thine heart, thy love.
An instrument old, is meant to be forsaken,
Yet thou didst not wish to give up thy love.
Artiste thou wast, thou art, thou shalt always be,
Thine heart wast ne’er mine, but of thy talent.
If only, mine heart could be an instrument more skilled,
Might thou ne’er hast left me.

Sadly, ’twas a time long ago,
Now the strings of mine heart lie broken,
The once magical muse abandoned.
An instrument unskilled for the artist,
Has no fate but everlasting silence,
As the virtuoso finds himself a muse better suited.
Alas, this muse forsaken, heartbroken, forgotten,
Lays down to sleep, forever, under the misty sky.

~*~*~