With all the clocks counting down to love....

I've been missing things lately- times, faces, seasons...

I can't explain the nostalgia, but it haunts me at night, and I don't like it at all. I miss my childhood, the way my mom was before she got sick, my freshman year, my first kiss, my sophomore year, my many other 'firsts'...

... blah, too much icky-ness. Poems. The first one I wrote tonight, the second a month or two ago, and the third a few days ago.

Corridor

The shattered panes
touch scattered pains
and I
cannot forever lie
amidst this tearing, heaving sigh
Just waiting to inhale
all the world around
is stale
And I am left
the same as always
closing doors
in hopeful hallways
I crumple
and cry at the walls as I roam-
Can I please, at last, come home?

D.O.A.
Times grow bleak
and weaker with
the words we tend to
pass off as old.
It is I
who is the fool, now
with every glance.
I take a hidden breath,
wary that you may
mistake me for
alive.


Travellers
We embraced with a melody
loud, original
As we were wandering
away from home

We parted with a hesitancy
quick, hopeful
as we were struggling
against the flow

Somber, we are -ultimately-
nothing at all
Enthralled, we are -forever-
'uno,
lo stesso'


Feel free to critique...