High Time For This
I want to have a mutual love with words
a civil union bound by the light of hope
I want people to think of me not by name
but as the girl with the ink covered soul
Thoughts of me should be equivalent to thoughts
of thundered storms and raging, heartfelt winds,
the twilight of childhood and the smell of wet pavement-
a palette of colors no lips nor eyes have tasted;
they should be the curve of a smile and roll of a tear
The art of capturing the stars is done not by net
nor with telescope
but with a pencil clutched in little fingers
holding on for the moon
the smell of grey should be coursing through my blood
hair woven with letters and
smile fractured by things yet spoken
and my humanity shall be decided by the degree
of how my heart has stretched
My eyes will be bleeding stories
to keep the promises
to catch the phrases before they whisper away,
as they so often do
and my life should be colored
not by the things I've said
but by the words only my mind has heard,
the wandering thoughts that linger throughout
I mean to say I'm deeply in love
with a power greater than pen
that causes my heart to tremble
as my fingers tap
it causes the waves to rush
the leaves to sing
the wind to carry us away
and I'm deeply in love
with this wondrous thing
only a broken tree can hear
and only an ocean's abundance
could dry out my love
because I'm so devoted
to this beautiful thing
that I'd let it break my walls
and bend my bones
to share a cup of ink
Copyright © Robin Vence | Year Posted 2014
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