Thomas McKelvey Poems

Whispers trail behind me as I walk,
Hands outstretched, clutching little boxes.
'This one for your thoughts, this for your dreams,
That for the pain you cannot show.'
...

I press down
desperately,
dragging my innermost self
across the page,
...

I breathe heartache,
I bleed poetry
...

what once was mine
but always yours,
beats in my chest,
an aching tome
...

Amidst the Cherry Blossoms,
She loses herself,
Looking at the sky
Through the highest branches.
...

My soul is being crushed, my spirit burdened and strained,
This world is pressing, squeezing me,
So I run into the fields, into the woods,
Finding nourishment in silence and muted tones.
...

I thought of you, again.

Sometimes I feel good enough,
sometimes, I can't breathe.
...

Barefoot, toes pointed skyward like heels in sand,
she gathers her hair, twists it in a simple command.
Backwards she walks, the ocean vast and cool,
pale waves like ghosts beneath the moon's soft rule.
...

You trace my back with your fingertips,

All the days that used to be, standing tall between us, just history, like scars in my skin.
...

Dearest Laura,
There's something strangely fleeting about this present moment, isn't there? Yet, here it is, captured in a forgotten photo, trapped within the fading whispers of cellulose. Your eyes, once pools of gentle sublimity, now appear as muted moons through the haze of time.
The picture jolts a memory awake, a memory sharp as a shard of glass. It throws me back to that night, when the truth of our connection settled in my heart - a love that bloomed only on one side. You were, and always would be, a dear friend, a source of unwavering support. But the ache for something more, something beyond the boundaries of friendship, lingered unrequited.
I can't recall why I took that photo, or why I held onto it for so long. Perhaps it was a silent testament to a fleeting dream. Now, unearthed from the dusty corners of forgotten boxes, your placid gaze unlocks a flood of memories - the scent of spring blossoms mingling with fresh rain, the nervous anticipation that thrummed in my veins. It was the night you accepted my invitation to the dance, a night etched in both joy and sadness.
...