My Poet
Looseleaf thoughts trailed behind me as I moved between moments.
Onto the next will little regard for the last.
Carelessly discarded attention to detail left a world crafted by outline, but devoid of color
A chapter’s end, always nearing as I furiously scribble out another shorthand experience
Plagued by the wall clock’s siege, pulverizing my moments into powder.
Pouring through the hourglass
Another sunset, another night without reflection, another day with not enough time
The roots of mortality begin to emerge in the corner of my eyes.
The changing leaves of my tree of life
Time was short, soon leaves will fall
Time was now
And then she appeared
Her sweet song of summer found my ears and I wondered into her timeline
Everything seemed different there, alive, full, colorful
She lived her life as a poet, deliberately accents curating a feeling,
A sense to pause if the world needs to catch up.
She hung her pages on a clothesline to season in the summer breeze, filled in her blanks with calligraphy, then waited for a blue moon to illustrate
Our gazes collided, and she went straight to my story, deep inside
She looked for my seams and slowly traced her fingers along the stitches, asked about the tears in the leather I’d never stopped to notice
She read me with intensity, then dogeared her favorite pages
A blurry world came to life with a million points of color when she splashed synesthesia over my imagination.
I felt an ambush of understanding
She cared for me without my permission
The sun felt warm
The day felt longer
Fast changed to full
I felt, everything
She was much
She was my poet and she wrote my next chapter as a love poem
Copyright © Robert Franklin | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment