The Moorings of my Soul

A poem, inspired by a dream and a muse...

My feet dangle off the edge of this ship,

moored at safe harbour,

while at sea the winds blow harder

lifting up storms within the ocean

formed by my emotions,

powerful, beautiful,

happy that you are full

of at least some measure of joy,

while the old soul of this boy

longs to actually see that smile

I know you hold.

But we’re still separated by miles

of oceans hostile and cold.

 

I dream of kissing you

          for a reason you might not expect.

I want to feel my lips against yours

because of their words,

               the ones in which we connect.

Like the ones you whispered

               to my soul, when we first met.

 

I want to take a messenger bird

and write a note with these

breathless, heart-kissed words.

I want to send my kisses through

love letters and poems about you,

    til they find their way to you, my beautiful girl…

 

And I want to send with it my prayers

that this bird will make it safely there

over these stormy seas

that keep you away from me,

constantly raging

from the thought that maybe

that there’s a chance this love will be.

 

Behind me, I can hear

violins playing and feet tapping

in time to hands clapping;

a festival of cheer,

but I’m quiet, for by it I think

that the rest of all our years

might be at the brink

of slipping into this sea.

How can I celebrate,

when I still have to wait

for you to be here with me?

 

The music is another thing

telling me to stop lingering

over this cacophany of notes

where I say “run off with me,

we’ll elope,

let go of all these ropes

that have bound us at our throats

trying to choke out all our hopes.”

 

An explosion of lights

explodes over this sea;

casting colors of white

    and green

in a flower blossom burst

of fireworks

casting shadows on the hurts

              haunting inside of me.

 

I stare up from my ship-side perch

as the blossom of light fades

leaving imprints in my eyes

of colors now gone away;

specks of black remain

like voids within my sight

empty, empty,

in the shadow of fading light.

 

I take a sigh,

and decide to leave my post

I can hear them in the distance

making a toast,

while I’m still here,

             standing like a ghost

emotionless at most,

while you’re still gone

at strange and distant coasts.

 

The whole town is coloured

in streamers of white,

crimson and green;

and I begin,

                  to think this is a dream

far less real than my thoughts of you

in a place I’ve never seen.

There are ribbons,

streaming in a canopy

over the narrow streets

joined by coloured

                    paper lanterns;

and as I grin,

I feel like the traitor who turns

and never learns from his sin.

 

People dance and sing

children run by laughing

sparklers like wands,

the fond smell of sweets

mixing in the air,

joined by the rhythm and beat

of the hearts of those there.

 

I look up

    as something catches my eye;

a paper airplane flies

high above the canopy

       of paper ribbons and lights.

A child tries to catch it,

in her outstretched hands

but it lands,

          in the middle of the streets

in the midst of dancing feet.

It’s kicked, it rolls

                        right by me.

And what I see,

                      seizes my soul.

 

In the corner of the crumpled

trampled piece of paper,

                  is a small butterfly.

Similar to the ones I craft for her,

                      in every letter I write.

 

I lift my head,

and my eyes meet yours.

And I confess,

seeing you there;

green dress,

ribbon in your hair,

                      ….I was taken.

I must have been mistaken,

or this was just a dream.

But as I hold you close,

my heart knows,

this feeling in my soul.

Its rapture.

captured by your presence

pressing against me.

In the distance,

I hear a quieting at the sea.

This romance,

that I thought would never be,

has struck me like a lance

cut deep and severing

all the fears I used to see

with a kiss from you

                 and but a glance;

I let that butterfly note

fly to distant shores

my heart has spoke true

          with a dance from you

                 I don’t need it anymore…

Reviews

[Damien Davison]

I hope you go down in history man... You better do something with writing I'm serious like holy s**t, you are becoming a master at your style. Getting there very quickly man. Both I and my brother think a lot of you... Great job!

[MachinaWriter]

Thanks, man, that means a lot. I always like hearing from both you and your brother, I've got a lot of respect for the both of you.

[Southern Cross]

You have the gift of a true story teller, the hope of an optimist and the love and heart of a true romantic. You take the reader along for the dream and make them a believer in " What If's ?"... In the style of Coleridge ..well done !!!!

[MachinaWriter]

To be compared to Coleridge is quite a thing lol I think you exaggerate, but I appreciate it. As always, you never cease to make me feel like my poetry is actually worth something lol