The Silence of My Voice

And then the window illuminated with goldenness, The curtain danced all shades of orange, Sometimes, changing the colour of my sheets, And at other times, the tint of my tresses, Sliding deeper in the quilt, But just enough to treat my eyes, With the love light made with my room,  Its warmth felling through under the window,  Spreading in the room, and me, Which tingles my toes,  And tickles my waist, Warming my hair,  Like the hands of a lover holding your head, Revel in it, soak in it, take it all in, Like a breath of you,  Under the brown autumn sky. The laziness to abandon the cosy crippling you, And the doorbells constantly ringing for milk, But lay there for another while, just, As I will, For how many mornings have you created, When you woke up for yourself, And took the sunrise in for yourself, For how many nights have you survived through, To sleep only to those few moments of dawn, Like a mother, sw...

A few innocent footings, When was it,  That you held grip of you? The you, which was merely ready, The you, which never knew the use of tongue, The you, still hiding behind your mother, Awaken hard by destiny,  You wept, and swept, and crippled,  But still went strong, Like an iron grip of a baby's hand,  On the slender fingers of her mother, Smiling, laughing,  The blows,  Working their way like potions, Raising her, bit by bit, Piece by piece, With each time her growing up,  It kept taking something from her, Sometimes, the strength, Sometimes, the courage,  Sometimes, the will, And here, I sit beseeching My hands folded in obligation to Thee   Take you may whatever, But do spare her, her heart, For it's only the heart, It's pristine goodness, and fondness, That had her from going. Buckets full of love. Always there, Ak.

Haunt me, Unlike the ways of spirits, Imprinting my soul by yours, Haunt me, Leaving your scent unto me, Like a room filled out by baked apples, Haunt me,  Until I start hallucinating, And haunt me, As if you truly follow me, Haunt me, By the sweet tones of your piano, Whereby I sat watching you play, Haunt me,  With the bitterness of the morning coffee, With the torn pages of the book, You could never read to me, Haunt me, again, With all the singularly eyed jokes, And the laughter that followed, Haunt me, still, Through the seconds, When you helped me replace my guitar strings, Haunt me,  Haunt me, till I hum the tunes you made, Haunt me, until the edge of madness, And haunt me,  Till I bleed of you. Been long gone, eh? Some inspiration it took, this one. Buzzed, Ak. 

Average people don't understand you and me. They don't have that ability. The ability to understand and perceive the world differently. Of course we have our dumbfuck moments. But they don't define us. I told you once that I remember everything you say. I wasn't lying, I do. Whatever you've ever said, done, how you've laughed, your expressions at almost every next thing - I remember it all. And somewhere in the darkness of my mind, I always will. You see, there's a point in everyone's life when they finally understand why they can't have a certain somebody in their lives. I've seen some not having been able to come to that point ever and perish over just that one person they could never have. Because sometimes people allow themselves to be reckoned pathetic when all they could have done instead was said let it be.   I miss you. I've wanted to tell you this everyday, without fail. It's hard missing you. But one thing I'm glad abou...

You and I, w e weren't made of love,   O r poems, or destiny, We just happened, cluelessly, blindly, All that made us up was faith, In giving, in talking, in sharing, Without even the blink of an eye, Such happenstances, D on't happen too often. In this world, That's often cold and dark, I find warmth in the thoughts of you, The fire to heat me,  To ignite me, Read me, Before the words fade away, In my pages, Read me, Before I take those pages, And light the faltering fire. Possibilities are a funny thing, sure. I wrote the second part at a time when things were new, changing. Ten parts later, things are still new, changing. And you're still the reason for them. Possibilities.  Love,  Ak.