Our Graffiti Walls

Sometimes the pain is unyielding,

deeply plunged with serrated edges.

Only you can see the ghoulish images

stuck on repeat, record, rewind, replay…

Brother take my hand because I understand

how the weather won’t efface, nor time erase,

the graffiti on the wall of your remembrance,

bleeding paint, rolling from those crying eyes.

Why does midnight seem so dark and cold

when you’re feeling strapped  and alone?

While Insomnia  wrestles your  demons away,

daylight can’t seem to come soon enough.

But it eventually does Brother, it does!

See… the bleeding has stopped for a while.

When you looked out of your window

and saw that other artists had been at work…

Painting their own graffiti walls, you knew

that there were others outside just like you,

chasing ghosts at midnight, in frenzied spritz,

their pain transformed into nobel–prized art.

We’ll rise from the ashes again Brother!

Take my hand, you may lend me yours too.

Only you

If I could paint,

I would wash the background

with all my tears of wasted years,

blend the dark with pastel shades,

the beginning

of new love I had found.

Then with brilliant colors,

foreground with flourish,

flashes and flush,

with dazzling diamonds,

of the golden years

I’m longing to spend

with only you.

The first time

I never thought I’d feel it again,

that raw urge,

that sense of release

to feel whole again,

in control of my own freedom,

to touch the magic:

feel its pulse, one with my own,

the tremulous anticipation

that you always feel,

on that decisive occasion

of the first time,

just before

that long awaited moment.

That’s how I felt

from the first stroke,

lubricated with blushing color

and sweeping motions.

Untamed passion

poured out of me

as I laid my dream bare

on the smooth white canvas.

(Inspired by the Elizabeth Gilbert’s latest book –

Big Magic: Creative living beyond fear)

Perfect alchemy

You’ll not fall on your sword

And I’ll not take an asp to my arm.

We both know the folly of such an act.

But at least indulge my daydreams

As I will give flawless blossoms to yours.

Paint me a portrait of our soulful love

In words that catch the trick of the light.

Sculpt a statue that moves in iambic rhythm

In sync with the person you’ve come to know,

Then strum a melody into the flow of your verse.

You’ll not reach the top of Mount Everest

And I’ll not swim across the English Channel.

Neither of us has such urge or tenacity,

But at least listen to my silent words

And I’ll lend vocabulary to tag your feelings.

Just keep in pursuit of the perfect alchemy

That will bring you eagerly back home to me.