Notice
“Notice”
Sonnet 173
3/6/01
Take time to notice.
Notice the little things that weave
Our personalities with our motives
And lose yourself in the scene.
The history of why
We are, and came from where
Will with no words describe
The life that we have shared.
Take time to love it;
Love what makes us we.
The greatest flatterers trick
Is to imitate what makes me me.
And in this simple gesture
They’ve noticed my nature.
Cold
“Cold”
2/14/01
Do you still call me friend? Wasn’t it your fingerprints found on the knife?
Didn’t you try to drown Me with the name of wife?
Weren’t the strands of rope found ‘neath your nails?
The burns on my soul and my neck tell the simplest tales.
Wasn’t it you who broke my heart and stole my visions?
You wanted to be my friend, yet started a chain in prison?
A prison of ice cold starts is the lair in which I reside.
Don’t say you really care when you killed me with you lies.
Start a new leaf, turn a right road, but please stay out of my bitter cold.
Come Back
“Come Back”
Sonnet 170
1/31/01
What would I do if you came back?
Would the moon glow brighter in the night,
Would the clouds flow like the black
Hair that surrounds your eyes?
Would I want to feel your hand–
The hand that stabbed my trust
And hung my failures out to fan
My origami lust?
Would I run to you or stationary stare?
If you came back . . . would you?
Am I traipsing near the lair
Of a hidden lion’s tooth?
I’m not too sure what I would do
If you came back. Would you?
Where Impossibles Go
“Where Impossibles Go”
1/25/01
Dabbling in an alchemist dream to create
A golden strand from its fires burning passion.
Does one think it so simple a task
To brake the spider’s web and fashion
A garment that will span the years
In immortal joys and happy tears?
Can a faltering diamond of ice
When to the summer’s kiss of pain
Stand and shine like a promised ring
On a glorious lavender wedding day?
Is it too much to see there is no road
That takes you where impossibles go?
Can a flame, kindled in a heart with sparks
Born in the eyes or softer palms,
Run rampant and burn together
Like a mid-day Shakespearean sonnet,
Or does it take a mind to stay
Its only passion in a formidably life-fixed way?
No. Emotions of a school-girl dream
Are grasped as quickly as a raging stream.
A Book
“A Book”
Sonnet 169
1/16/01
Leather, stitched and bound with a careful hand.
Time and effort placed in creating a simple plan
To show affection for her face.
Maybe she will see the stitches
Which create a poem only read by witches.
Or a heart which understands the lonely.
Maybe she can feel the warmth Imbued into this book.
Maybe I will still for just a second look.
Forlorn one can only hope that she will read the message.
Yet one may never know if she received the impression.
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I have only one thing to say to this. Doing sweet little things for a crush is a great idea . . . but you cannot rely on little hints and gestures to communicate the way you feel. You’ve got to tell them. Period.
