sorry (not sorry)

This morning, slumber held me hostage
gray clouds outside my window
watched me curl into last night’s embrace.

Drifting in and out of consciousness
I found you in my dream
ocean of light in your eyes.

The sun was not happy that I missed out
on his golden colors
I told him I’ve fallen for the shadows
of the moon.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

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attempted theft

I tried stealing light from the moon
weary of listening to her gush
about her dalliance with you.

Away from sunbeam for too long
I see it reflected on
skyscrapers’ windows–
even the colors are unreal.

The night’s still my best friend
patiently crawling, keeping me company
though when dawn breaks I’ll loathe him
for leaving.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

the sky’s tricks

the evening drizzle was adamant
steadily tick tick ticking on the window
at the speed that made the earth wonder
if it would last till dawn

reflections in the puddles muddled with
the real thing
golden images from streetlights
beauty hid in the darkness of the night
but the heart could hear the truth
whispering

meanwhile, rustling trees
waited to see what tricks the sky had
up its sleeve

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

she comes here every night

An empty room, save for a chair by the window. A sliver of sunlight touches one of its edges every morning, and at night it lives in the darkest shade of black.

Nobody comes here anymore, except she who always carries a basket full of torn pieces of paper that had been a letter. Every night she sits on the chair, the basket on her lap, putting the pieces together, although she knows the words by heart — a vow for a forever.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

forever is cheap

Some days are filled with hope that the time capsule will never be dug up, ghosts never coming back from the grave.

But some nights are smeared with every word that was ever said, each promise spilled, the lilting voice captivating the heart foolishly in love, giving forever a new, shallow, meaning.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

the ghost and me

I can’t remember when I was here last. Funny how things can be different yet stay the same all at once. The tapestry is still looking pretty on the wall, but the corner table is now decorated with a lonesome vintage ashtray. There’s something familiar in the air – scent of tuberose? Where is it coming from? It takes me a while till I realize it’s my mind trying to make me feel at home.

empty front porch
full of sunset memories
crimson on windows

Somebody turns on the tap in the kitchen. The trees’ long shadows tell me it’s time for tea. Conversations, more like murmurs, waft into the room where I’m standing, looking out to rolling hills. Who’s here with me? How did they know I was here? Slowly I discover that they are echoes of who I used to be.

ghost of yesterday
occupying inner space
refusing to leave

Night falls and brings with it a sense of melancholy. I forget how dark it was in some corners, though strangely comforting. I breathe in the twilight breeze and remember why I loved it here. Safely hidden yet incredibly freeing, a place that seemed to be created for love to be born and grow and give birth to more love. Until someone comes along to say that the place belongs to someone else.

gray shadows dancing
in dark forbidden corners
an ode to the night

I sit quietly at the edge of silence, with a resolve to leave at first light. I hear voices and feel the touch, and know I’m not alone. When the moon appears I will ask her how long this beautiful space has been abandoned since I parted with the past.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

born for her

Her favorite time of the day
is a few minutes before three
in the morning.

When the mountains
seem to hold their breaths
just to hear what the trees
have to say

and the river flows
more slowly
as though not willing
to miss out on the story
about how strong the rocks can be.

And then, of course,
it’s when she hears
his voice more clearly,
telling her how every star
reminds him of her sparkling eyes
each time she reads the verses
born just for her.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

how nights turned

Nights used to be her sanctuary. A place to burrow into, pretending that tomorrow would see a lighter shade of black. Where serenity was tucked away in a corner of solitude.

Until he found her. He, the beautiful juxtaposition making her feel safe yet turning her world upside down. A source of calm that sent her heart racing.

Then nights became time for restless dreams, because now the yearning followed the sun and the moon, and only the feeling of him on her skin could wash away her craving.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved