Ghosts of Memories

These streets are haunted 

by ghosts 

of happy memories and 

shared smiles, 

turned bitter and black 

by the waves of hatred, 

anger  

and heartbreak. 

Insignificant places

suddenly have meaning.

She can't hide from them, 

the ghosts that grasp her heart 

and squeezes tightly 

until all she can feel 

is an emptiness, 

a dry numbness. 

She welcomes it.

She tells herself it's better than the pain.

She can't feel it 

when her heart is gone, 

stolen away by the waifs; 

she feels full, 

but she is only full of dark anger 

and bitterness.

Indeed she is empty, 

a mere shell of herself. 

All she wants to do is sink into the darkness 

and forget him.

I'm still like this sometimes, even though I keep on thinking I'm finally over him. Random things and places trigger memories, which just make me even sadder. Sometimes when you're heartbroken, you just need to be given time to sulk and be angry before you can heal. 

Untitled 4

Ages have gone

since I last saw you,

stones have weathered and eroded

while vines lie withered and death

along the old, crumbling walls.

I walk in to the old creaking house and see

the old rose in its old dusty vase,

long dead, only a shell

of the rose I gave to you with dewy petals

that smelled of a sweet, fragrant scent.

And when I see you,

your appearance is that of the rose,

withered and dry,

but a radiance shines through,

erasing the earthly body that is your shell,

and you become

beautiful,

a young, fresh rose.

A friend asked me to write a poem with the theme that "nature's beauty is transient, but one's beauty will never fade." 

Untitled 3

I look at you, 

and see that you are different; 

but is it really you that has changed?

Perhaps it is me.

What is Love? (Revisited)

Love is 

a whispered word, 

a stolen glance across the room 

that throws your perfectly scheduled life 

off-kilter. 

Love is 

a shouted declaration, 

a grin of joy that can 

quickly fleet into pain. 

Love is 

a small word, 

yet so powerful, 

always hand-in-hand 

with its sibling 

hate.

Something simple today. Thanks G for the cute little poem :) http://woodysmoody.blogspot.com/2012/02/poetry.html#comment-form

The Chasm

We pushed away 

our conflicting thoughts, 

too afraid that what we would say 

would push us apart, 

and yet 

it was those unsaid words

that created a crack, 

which quickly turned into a chasm 

between us.

Sorry if this put a downer on anybody's Valentine's Day! I just needed to get this one out.
Today, I read this beautiful book of poetry called "Think Again" by JonArno Lawson and illustrated by Julie Morstad. With simple, yet deeply profound poems, the Lawson is able to capture the essence of teenage romance and relationships. Here's a review by the Quill and Quire: http://www.quillandquire.com/reviews/review.cfm?review_id=6763

I wrote this as a response to this poem called "The Missing Conversation":

The crack: almost invisible, but what seems 

whole is broken--

Important words went missing 

Between two 

Who should have spoken.

the dead rose

our love was 
a single rose that we kept guarded, 

placed under a glass dome, 

hidden away from other eyes. 

we only lifted the protection when we were alone; 

a single touch, a single rose. 

no matter what we do now, that rose is now dead, 

it suffered in its sanctuary, 

in its tiny glass prison. 

I try to pick up the fallen petals, 

wishing I could breathe new life into 

our fragile, fragrant, precious rose 

but it only keeps wilting on the palm of my hand 

no matter what I do. 

we can place the petals back onto the heart with glue 

but we can't bring that rose back to life; 

our time has passed 

no matter what we do.

sometimes, that's the way love goes...