Roaming

A field stands before me, before us all

where the tree’s loom ominously

growing by the second, wild and tall.

 

Everyone avoids the shade,

afraid,

afraid.

 

I tiptoe around the edges, delicate and quiet

nervous that, should shade find even the smallest patch of my skin,

I would have to start over

and wouldn’t know where to begin.

 

One lazy day, I took a nap near the brook

and when I awoke, it felt as though the earth shook.

I was shrouded in shadows, paralyzed with fear

I was certain that imminent failure was near.

 

Yet I trekked on, unafraid of the dark

and I learned how to roam freely,

singing my song

that could rival a lark’s.

For the shade was only temporary,

a teacher and friend,

and I am always embraced by sunshine

in the end.

 

 

Passing Notes

There is a part of me

that wants to sneak you a slip of paper.

Maybe under your door on a humid night,

Where I could slip away

and quickly turn vapor.

 

The paper wouldn’t be ordinary,

short and quaint,

but the moment you read it,

there would be no restraints.

 

At this moment,

I have no desire for anything more.

I know that it is not the right time,

but eventually we will both come upon that door.

And when we do,

I will be bold,

for I can foresee exactly

what this can hold.

 

 

Bloom.

All of my secrets rush through my lips in a whisper.

Though they are spoken aloud, they are heard by my ears only

and are illuminated with each breath.

My words of truth laced with fate

continue to escape.

Promises ring through the air

and they are bright there, right there,

carved into each star

awaiting the inevitable blooming sensation

and sealing what is to come, to show how

wonderful things truly are.