Medusa Waves Poems

When faced with a painting, like van Gogh’s starry night and Monet’s red poppies
You feel the air in your chest tighten, your eyes glimmer, you let out a sigh and slight smile
You blink hard, many times, trying to see it clearer because the eyes cannot keep up with the racing heart
You look at each individual brush stroke, imagine the painter painting it, and imagine how he must’ve felt-how he was feeling and seeing life at that moment,
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I love the love that’s soft,
The love a child may carry-
Innocent and pure
Modest and true
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Once upon a death, so lovely was the day-
Upon a question came, we had nothing to say
Perhaps a laugh, a giggle, a cynical smile?
Lets not waste the death, for it took a while.
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Id give you my life..
But could I wear that around my neck?
id give you my love..
can it buy me a new car?
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Winter, comes and goes.
Lovers, they die and born
Seeds sprout new life,
And life brings new seeds.
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Standing near the coldness of the door,
In solitude, my bare feet on the cold floor,
I felt the shivering of my body swallow me whole
I knew there was nothing left in me, but a wounded soul
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My hands bleed of dryness that no remedy can suffice.
My chest pounds a beat of lonely tunes that fade with the wind
My eyes stare a blankness, they may as well be blind
These hands once held yours,
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Standing above the speeding cars, the trucks, the occasional motorbikes..all the lights below resemble the glimmering sea.
Vast and dark, dashing and quick as they sped by underneath.
The highway never looked so tranquil.
As I pondered my memories- the delightful first kiss, my first love and first embrace of intimacy. A tear began to roll mournfully down my cheek, stopping at the edge- then slipping quickly down to the endless highway below.
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The noise of alone echoed in my hallow body, vibrating and shaking every limb of limb that made me
-how about another..
My outer skin was smooth like butter against the thin blade of all the sorrows of yesterdays and yesteryears, yesterhours too..
-how about another…
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What makes my heart pound like the beat of a rolling drum-a quick, unwinding roll that escalades with each dropping thud?
To say- my love, would be lessening his place, hes far more than any other lover, like the difference between noon and morning.
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