poetry - my stress reliever

the stars didn't move tonight
the night is still

the warmth (traces of your once near body)
staves off the darkness

it isn't so lonely after all
not when the mind has stopped to dwell on it

in the distance, i feel something stirring
perhaps, despite the silence, my heart will find its way back

composed

if i close my eyes and look away,
the after image
of your face
will still remain vivid in my mind.

if i choose not to stay
my heart
will give me time to forget.

maybe all it takes is one moment
of indecision
and then of perfect finality
that there is nothing more to do
but leave things unspoken.

when poetry is left unpolished

it was late last night when you stood near the doorway
(my dreams are rarely so vivid.)
and took in the washed-out walls and stained window frames.

your fingers traced the broken silver of the doorknob
and pretended to pick the rusted lock with your nail.
(it would have been comical had you not been so stern.)

(there was something both endearing and cruel in the remembrance.)
they were only moments from my sleep and yet
each movement caused the world to rock in frozen longing.

(you enter my dreams and i can only watch
as you strum the chords of a lost song
i will never find when the sun streams through the curtains)

snip

her hand poises, ready with the scissors
"the thing about hair, you see,
is that once you cut it off,
it's gone forever."

"yes, yes. i understand. shorter.
i want it shorter. cut away", i say
looking straight ahead and breathing in deep
"i'm sure."

*snip*
damn. i swear i marked it a bit longer.
"well?" she queries (triumph in her tone?)
"perfect," i reply.

the thing about hair, she should know, is that it grows back.