Thoughts of a Violinist Giraffe

Has the novelty worn off? Has the flame of attraction and passion burnt out,                                   dimmed by the dull blanket                                   of routine? Has the novelty worn off? How could it,                       when I'm fine with the way we've been doing things? Has the novelty worn off? Or has it been replaced by something else,                        an itch to see things change for far better than what we have now? Has the novelty worn off? Do I really want more of the same? Maybe it's time I accept the change that's coming around. Maybe there's less now,                   ...

How do you speak for the byways and hidden vales of a sleeping city? As the billows of pale blue, tainted                                    smog grips the throat and chokes the words until an uncomfortable silence peppered by sickly coughs blankets the streets in industrial ignorance,                 strained, ember-tinted, dull eyes peer out in sentry-form alarm, fearing almost-morbid intent to punish, lurking like serpents in the alleyways. A smile is silenced by the grip                         of violence and degradation. The wise, outwardly clothed, seem no different from the vagrant soul. A plague of greed and gluttony                             makes victims of many. How do you speak for all these? How ...

I write my pains as poetry - mostly to hide the fact I'm feeling the loneliness in your silence. Ironic, then, that others, when they chance upon the lines and verse, find solace: "I'm exceedingly glad I'm not the only one", they say. Well I'm certainly not. Glad, that is. How can I find comfort in the fact that others feel the same? I see subtle signs, and it takes all I have not to call you out on it. I don't want to call you out on it. I just want things to change for the better, not for the worse. Not knowing is breaking me: I run all the possible reasons in my head fast enough to send my heart to cardiac arrest. I'm feeling the distance and I can't tell if it's because I'm shaking and terrified of what it means or if I'm reacting to the possibility that this was never meant to be after all. But what I'm writing is poetry - for all you know, this is all just fiction for you to feed your eyes...

I am lost in the turbulence of thought, meandering through the byways of drenched despondency. Words left unspoken take opportunity to ravage my heart with abuses until the bruises bleed outwardly - so to speak. But one thought - alas, how pure the thought! - of you has cured me. All is calm, all is settled. ~~~~~~ Short poem this time around. Not everything has to be like an essay. Cheers!

I'm not gonna end this the way you think I'll end this. I'm not gonna end this by looking over the horizon as the sun sets, my back turned from you as you walk away to an unsure future  without  me. I'm not gonna end it like actors after the final act, bowing out to the crowd as the curtain falls. I'm not gonna end it with your dying wish having me take away the dragging moments of pain that remind you you'll have to fight for your last breath before you die. I'm not ending it that way. I'm ending this as quietly and as unobtrusively as possible. You won't even notice the held-back tears as I write out every reason why my fears finally won out. I'm ending this quietly, with nothing but the scratch of my pen on paper, blotched by coffee drops and salt water. I'm not even anywhere near the sea, but I may as well be. I'm ending this, because I can't stand to fall apart so often in an hour, just as m...

I've begun the slow count     to the next starry night. The last I've seen the blinking lights were when I promised that I would find the right kind of life                         for me. And that was seasons ago. I don't remember the last time I ventured to look into the depths of God's flickering firmament. I don't remember how many times that I did, and was met with frowning clouds,                           content to deny me the chance                             to see the stars change. A certain knight once said that                              a man can  change his stars. For each moment where I'm left                       ...

I fight for your affections: every smile is a battle won, your peals of laughter a victory song, the simplest words uttered, a vital supply to the battlefield of romance. I'm unclear of your expectations of me -                                                              yet I fight. I fight - and whether they are the demons of doubt and uncertainty or the complexity of a very real adversary, I will make inch to grudging inch and hold a mile to your guarded heart. Not that I seek to destroy the walls that keep your affections safe, only that I am granted a chance to implore you to open the gate. It doesn't matter how many days it will take - patience is attrition taking on weeks, months and years                            in simple steps of one...