Kylee Wells

Rookie (March 4th,1984 / San Francisco)

# 2 Pencil - Poem by Kylee Wells

Love is a mystery unknown to speech
poetically we conclude that there isn’t enough words in language to touch on the possibilities of love
although we seem to sum it all up in three small words
that being of course, I love you
gifted does are souls sing
rhythmic to the ways of lustful moons enchanted by the sounds of inquired love stories
he loved for so long
never asking why
only knowing it was next to nature
like the way mothers feed their youngin’
as often does the moon slide to shadows
so does the end of that natural ways of her smile
which once was a sought refuge in those wilful nights of prolong pleasure
distance could play no role in a love story set in the hills of the heart’s beat
and he traveled for a sleepy hollowed night
to kiss her lips by dawn’s whimsical birth
I narrate a story of told passion, and the enclave of dreadful grief I was not their to witness
so like all great stories some aspects are left untold
I speak volumes on the hurt he was left with in her hollowed presence
she sings a soul of absence that does not make his heart grow fonder
how he writes of the mystery of love in beyond me
his apology that it does not come in the form of a number 2 pencil
and his words then follow empty streams of a love’s lake
that of tears, as he writes these words to she
a lake filled of contaminated waters
love’s current is all but settled
a writes still
implying his hurt openly
unconventional for the man’s stature of tall beings, tall
he some how fills the page of collected thoughts he openly admits to not normally being able to do with out ‘losing his cool’
her heart is cool
his mind is thawed to you
he speaks on her hurting him
as if it is casually her second occupation
he unloads contemplation
of returning the favor by being equally as rude
love is a tricky thing
one indeed we can’t help of who are heart does seek
cliques converge in his words
of classic human jealousy
of not knowing where this love is standing
in the ways of someone, something else
he burns alone still crying
I assume the lead of a #2 pencil would be a mess mixed with tears
like the combination of love proofs also to be
although we lead it out so regularly
but he nevertheless conveys his love
acknowledging it being quite hard to admit
as for any man I am sure
discounting the love for a daughter
if the marks of a #2 pencil could be replaced with the mark of blood
would it be more so tragic?
Constantly the heart bleeds for this unmoving, unwavering accounts of true love
picked from the souls harvest so gracefully it was you sweet girl
he speaks of you
sweet girl
while in your absence he has splendidly tried to replace you
I come to grow knowledge of him
while you are after the fact
his story I tell well, you well enough to convey shall remain unto this next pencil
I hold my heart to him
he loves you
neither you, nor here, nor there
I speak somewhat of this
and include the ode to love lost as personal to thee
I miss him
like you miss her
and the # 2 pencil bleeds for both of thee
I agree with his story
but not the beginning
when he conveys to her that he might understand that his letter to her, he simply titles Hi
doesn’t mean that much because it is typed, and not in ink, or pencil
it doesn’t matter to that
it matters that you said it
it matters that you felt it
I gainly respect you sweet friend
because you seem more enlightened to the victories of a woman’s heart

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 22, 2006

Poem Edited: Saturday, July 17, 2010

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