you: a picture
only bards can see
Would you cry?
the way the gods
opened up my heart,
the sky
under the Brooklyn Bridge
A canvas: oblique,
bare; drifting like the sordid past-
thundershowers at bay
illuminating the New York skyline,
lifting the stormy seas,
your soul
Is it so deep
or is the bay green,
murky, dark; a sadness
amidst such splendor and glory
Could we have mistaken
the view, the lightning and
the thunder for our theme song,
as if we were being courted,
serenaded by the heavens
to jump into the splendor and glory.
A movie scene,
it told of romanticism
of a broken lyricist
with a new bag. I
walked a mile-long journey
where denial and truth entwined
like a suicidal rope;
une histoire tragique,
two young lovers
on a different plane,
a level.
down where one
can touch but can never be
touched by your warmth,
caressed with your honesty,
the heavens applauded,
the sky took pictures,
and raindrops trickled
in a syncopated rhythm,
we toiled, trying to dig
deeper as if prying, but
actually reaching out
a friendly hand to touch
a soft ear to listen;
to my heartbeat:
outside was loud, but
inside there was…
Serenity.