Little Bird Poetry

Cigarette smoke and dirt, The scents that linger ever present in my nostrils, That will linger in my clothes, That will intertwine and cling in the fibers of soiled sheets, And embed itself into each and every strand of my hair, Cigarette smoke and dirt, These odors being the only known remnants of you, Your last connection to me, They bring me back, Back to quiet late nights and silent footsteps through the cold, You and I, Escaping into the darkness, Only to return when the black ink of the sky began to leech into a navy hue, The sliding silk panels pressed and wrapped around stray limbs and empty hearts, Both of us attempting to fill our hollow chests with the other’s lingering love, Neither of us succeeding, Soft, sensitive touch, Cold exchanges of affections, Heart and heart, Limb and limb, Intertwined like the smokey ghosts of your past cigarettes, The ones that haunt my memory, The underlying feeling both of us were dead inside, ...

They aren’t an ocean, not the vast depths of unexplored and untouched waves that expand and envelope most of the planet, They aren’t a striking swirl of deep navy dappled in the reflections of innumerable balls of gas held in the skies by their heavenly hosts, They aren’t the ever present blanket that rests above us, the one flecked with soft tendrils of fibers woven by unseen hands to dance like sheep across pasture, They aren’t They’re so much more, When I see them… what do I see? They may not be the ocean or the sky or the shade of sadness that swells up and pools in the window of people’s souls, But they’re much more beautiful, They are the small pools of dew left after the ground is drenched in showers the small reflective dips filled with pale blues that reflect the sky, edges so dark they echo far away oceans but that is not what this is, It becomes what it truly is when a child is boots like drops of sun decides to have a little fun, When the small feet ...

I don’t know if my thoughts make me a bad person If my private inside conversations Have any outward effect on my perceptions As what many have told me I am wrong When I am most sure I am right Why are these threatening thoughts keeping me awake at night I live each day inside myself Fighting a hidden enemy One that has no name Or even a face of any sort I fight to live each and everyday Against an elusive danger