PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I knew you'd left me

when the flutter in my ribcage

flattened and faded into a simple, grayed morning.



If I hadn't mistook you for a love-them-and-keep-them kind of man,

we could have been beautiful beneath that barely waking sun

and the silver streaks that followed right through the heavy afternoon.

The dust and dirt were dampened by midmorning,

but the air, thick with moisture,

couldn't hold down the ashes of a newly extinguished star-

I never thought the angels played keep away

until you fell into my, oh too eager, hands.



If you measure from the bottom of the meniscus,

like I had always told you,

you might find this feature is only waiting to smile.

No matter how much effort you applied to your words,

painting up your secrets to resemble something familiar,

they will always be lies and never freedoms.

With all the memories I made of you,

it was too much to pretend you loved me.

But in those final moments, when you knew it was over,

each misty-eyed syllable was more real than any other moment.

If words were tangible,

I could have slid one from between your pursed lips

and tucked it away into an envelope addressed to you.



Of all the seasons,

autumn dreamt of you the most.

Her arms reached for me at night, clawing at my window,

begging me to think of you.

She whispered softly but breathed your name;

only, she knew as well as I did, you can't hear her mournful cries.

When dusk nipped playfully at her frostbitten toes

she retreated back into herself,

and I haven't seen her since last year?s first snowfall.



I've watched the moonlight dance across your face

and imprinted the pain-stricken ballet into my heart.

When the flutter flattened and faded

into a simple, gray-sky morning,

I knew you'd left me.