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Delicate Movements

Delicate Movements

Tags: love, poem, sad

I'll hear you calling out to me
no matter where I am,
the voice that can pass through walls,
flicker among the candle's glowing wick before
spreading deep below to crack through winter's ice.

Marking the places we've imprinted entire lives on,
the lived before and after one another,
energies that are the pieces we gave of ourselves,
memory's residues mingling to make our shared worlds.

The places far beneath that are
holding this frail earth together,
the shining stars hanging like painted broken
ornaments strewn along the cold atmosphere,
all sculpted so we never forget one another.

The love you once gave was
a hovering mist surrounding me,
I can see it no matter where I am,
I know the most delicate movements
and touches will change the shape.

I can never truly hold or touch this,
it's made of mysterious cells casting afterglows
along the pieces I gave of myself,
the voice still calling out for you to remember.

The places that meant the most to me,
where I realized that even though you're not mine,
I was always going to be yours,
an identity sewn far too close
to all you say and do.

The love you once gave is the cold
atmosphere hovering over me,
the plates that shake deep
below the dark earth,
I can feel it no matter where I am.

I knew the most delicate movements
can warp it's shape from within us.

I can never truly hold or touch
the mysterious cells that built you,
but I still cling to the afterglows
illuminating the pieces I would give again

If you remembered that I was always yours,
even though you could never be mine,
even when I am was tied too closely
to all you say and do.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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