Saturday storms

It’s raining, a drink of water after parched days. The ground was littered with odd drops,  scattered randomly, before the thunder came and the heavens opened.

The rain always stops me in my tracks. I wait. I watch. I wonder. And my heart aches with some unfathomable feeling that soaks me to my core with a haunting want.

He is the one I think of when the rain falls, shattering itself upon the pavement. A Saturday morning with nothing but the sound of rain, and thunder in the distance. It’s always him I think of  — sitting end to end on a couch, reading. Or, notebooks open upon laps, jotting down something that comes to us, dialogue or a poem. I think of laying in his arms, just listening to the rain, not saying a word. I think of the intimacy of the moment and how completely I want that. I think of how this will never come to pass.

:

Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken from Pinterest, original source unknown.

Beneath the surface

The older I get,

the more I realize

how like the sea I am.

That liquid expanse of horizon –

always blue to me,

melancholic with longing,

a churning, churlish mass of feeling;

everything happening beneath the surface,

much like my own insides.

A soul at turns calm or chaotic,

but as quickly as it is stirred,

it bellows forth, a tempest of emotion

releasing and gentling itself.

Changeable tides,

ebbing and flowing as response,

some inner metronome

keeping a steady beat

like my heart.

:

Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken from White Noten, unsourced

Dripping secrets

Midnight blue ink

an extension of her soul

dripping secrets

from her fingers

her pen spoke louder

than her voice

with a whisper he moved

closer

to hear, her sweet accent

echoing

within the chambers of his heart

with words

that gave voice

to unspoken desires

intimacy

in simple things

he found the key

to unlock 

what had been imprisoned

within his soul

:

Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced.

Lies and betrayal

There’s a lot said about grace

and letting go of hurt and anger,

but they never tell you how to manage that.

One day you’re fine and the next day knocked senseless

by yet another wave you didn’t see coming.

.

You start to wonder if the lies told about you

by someone who should have known better,

who should have known you,

were told to another 

and now that person looks at you differently,

treats you differently.

.

When does this end?

When does it stop stinging?

When can you truly move on?

.

You know you will never get any recompense or apology,

and truth be told they probably still think they were right and justified …

but is it ever justified to speak ill of another when you can simply talk to them?

.

It is their own wounded pride talking,

you were just the fall guy for people who wouldn’t be straight with you.

You tell yourself you are letting it go,

you’ve chosen not to pursue it or make your feelings known,

it’s water under the bridge.

Only it’s not. 

Because suddenly the current picks up and washes that fragile structure away,

and you are reminded of all you tried to forget.

Your attempt at grace feels flat

and the flavor left behind is not one you want to taste again.

.

Yet you do,

because the repercussions of this act reverberate

and it becomes a wound that never quite heals.

The place they held in your heart becomes a mess of scar tissue you run your fingers over, reminding you to caution yourself,

because when push comes to shove

.

with some people

.

you think you have a place by their side

but you’re about to be thrust off a cliff.

:

Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208

To drown

A heart wide open

with nothing to buoy her

amid crested waves

falling beneath the surface

to drown of her own volition

in a sea of empathy

a relentless tide that spills

over her

pulling and pitching her headfirst 

into the deep

the darkness feeding

her exhaustion.

:

Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced

Beneath the surface

The older I get,

the more I realise

just how like the sea I am.

It was always blue to me,

that liquid expanse of horizon.

Melancholic with longing.

A churning, churlish mass of feeling,

everything happening beneath the surface,

much like my own insides.

A soul at turns calm or chaotic.

But as quickly as it is stirred,

bellowing forth with a tempest of emotion,

it is released and gentles itself.

Changeable tides

that ebb and flow as response,

some inner metronome

that keeps a steady beat

like my heart.

:

Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken from White Noten, unsourced

I am not made of stone

I am not made of stone.

I have been told

That I wear my heart upon my sleeve

That my writing tells all.

While my writing is imbued with

My thoughts, my feelings, my desires

I write only what I want known.

I am a world of private thoughts and feelings

Pain and joy

Mine to share

If I desire.

You will not find me crying publicly

But that does not mean I don’t hurt

It does not mean that the tears I shed

Don’t run hot down my face

When I am alone.

I am not made of stone

I get confused and frustrated

I have feelings

I have pride

I can be hurt by unkindness

By insensitivity

Especially when it’s unwarranted

Though you’ll never know how much.

 No, I am not made of stone

I am made

Of heart

And soul

:

*Not a new piece but always relevant, always me.

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2015

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced