Broke into a Storm

I didn't cry, the iris's of my eyes simply broke into a storm.

My blue eyes broke into a raging

                                Thunder storm

It swelled in the iris’s and drizzled in my pupils

The day you told me you hadn’t quite

                Given up

 

See I had been trying to recover for months now

To no avail

Or at least get some kind of straight answer

Also to no avail

 

You like dodging questions

Like

I still don’t even know what went wrong

In the first place

And you’re not so keen on telling me either

 

You just like to tell me about perfect

                                Which I am not

And about changes I’d make

                Which I don’t know how to execute

 

You make my life complicated

You are the morning that rips me awake

                When I open my eyes just before this

Dreamy version of myself

Hits the ground

 

You are the sunlight filtering through my

                Inner city window

But I will always be up until midnight

My aching mind mulling over answers

                I can never seem to find

 

I am also unprepared for you

And your soft gaze that would grace my skin

With the piquancy and tenderness of

                                A lover

 

You see your gaze devours me whole

Managing to turn this mirror plated heart

You chucked an ax through

Into a raging blizzard

 

No matter how powerful my winter storm

                                Warnings

Your seashore blue eyes

Threaten to swallow me whole

 

You compare me to a vase on a

                Tight rope

And if this is true you hold scissors

At the other end

Holding them with wire between open blade

Snipping this life line of mine

                                At a moment’s notice

 

The trouble is

A skilled rope walker like yourself

Is the only one capable of rescuing me

                From the cosmic storm

Raging in my chest

Causing me to plummet

                To

                    The

                            Earth

 

Because much to my disdain

I still Love

                You

Author's Note

everything here is intentional

Reviews

[MachinaWriter]

haha I love the use of the tightrope metaphor, and how you managed to give it so many angles. As well, I enjoyed this part:

You are the sunlight filtering through my
Inner city window
But I will always be up until midnight
My aching mind mulling over answers
I can never seem to find

especially after reading your poem about Midnight. I like when there are references to other works, whether intentional or not, in people's poetry. It speaks of a consistent mindset and of truth behind the words. Lovely write.

[kera moondust]

Thank you I have a lot of carry over ideas in my poetry =) It's nice when people catch them, ^^

[MachinaWriter]

Mine are similar. You should check out my poem Spanish Lullaby. I think you might enjoy it. In a few of my poems I speak of things from other ones. There's this world in my mind, a quilt stitched together with poetry as the thread. So often, things from one poem move into others. Whether it's a line about a butterfly heart, or Spanish moss on trees, or desert constellations.

[kera moondust]

oh wonderful ^^ I'll for sure read your poetry, and mine are usually, eye colors and times of the day that repeat. =)

[MachinaWriter]

Midnight, blue eyes. lol I've noticed. I'm a bit neurotic when it comes to poetry and writing in general, so I tend to overanalyze everything I see and tear it to shreds at the first signs of weakness. I haven't seen that weakness yet in yours, which is why I've been so ravenously devouring your work lol Ravenously...haven't used that one in a while haha

[kera moondust]

lol good word for sure, but thank you, yeah I notice weaknesses in poetry pretty easily myself, but yes, see in my poetry I'm always Sky Eyes, and then there are several other eye colors I describe as people in my life, or events.

[MachinaWriter]

My voice is my only quality. I'm a storyteller, in my poems and in real life. So it's often the only thing I speak of when describing myself. To me, I'm a disembodied spirit with a voice that must be heard lol Whether through ink, pencil, keyboard, or lungs. Usually, I talk about me trying to paint pictures or tell stories with my voice in my poems. Whether I feel that my voice is lacking, or not. We all identify ourselves in certain ways, and I find the implication of sky-coloured eyes very interesting. It captures and suggests a lot.

[kera moondust]

well thank you =)