Skinned Knees and Bumblebees

Innocence,

I don't remember innocence,
even in dreams,

a time when freedom
is a taken for granted
by most

to run in the grass,
skinned knees and bumble bees.

Funny how a memory will trigger
a spiral of thoughts,
feelings resurface
and I,

reminiscent of all that was taken from me.

My Mary Jane's ill fitting
for the adult I was forced to become
when I was still too young

to know what was right....

I wake with eyes wet,
just enough to catch the moonlight
to reveal the child still lives,

and waits for the one
who will love her...

BAN 2/16/13

Delicate

You used to watch me
curious to know where I traveled
when I got that far off look
writing in my time worn pages.

Letter after letter
forming works of art
holding me in rapture
 

(you always were jealous
of the words).

You listened as I read to you,
captivated
 

(or so I thought)
 

by the tears running down my face,
poems sung
and you never heard a one.

Stanzas written for love,
for sorrow
for a longing you couldn't fulfill...

you knew that didn't you?

You would wait until the last word was spoken
reaching for me
knowing what came next.

Entering me you felt something...

something you couldn't define,
and when I cried out,
you knew it wasn't for you,
and when the last tear
rolled off the pillow

you realized how delicate
I really was...

BAN ©

As promised ♥ 

Pushing Daisies

This house
and the memories it holds...

macabre music plays
upon the floorboards
steps taken
bemoan the weight

of what is lost.

Life once lush
quickly slips out
upon the ghost

of love

(or is it hate).

Dead to the waking
even I know
the meadow speaks

(calls my name)

leads me away
in mournful dance,
I wave my arms

sink below the surface,
maybe these little deaths

will push the daisies forth
for you to
pluck the petals...

(he loves me, he loves me not)

BAN

One

The flowers you sent
died today.

Petals fell
one by one
I began to count
lost in thought

the numbers no longer matter.

Days have gone by,
I cross off the calendar
pages turned

months, years

love given
not returned

and still I love.

(love you, and you, and you...)

What is it worth
when none accept

what good is this love

with another month gone,
(another page turned)

one may be the loneliest number
but one is the only number

I can truly count on.

BAN

Patchouli and Amber

Patchouli and amber

the only scent I ever burn.

 

I stare at the wisp of smoke

a straight line

until it curls

and disappears.

 

It ever lingers

when I am gone

 

and when I re-enter

this sacred space

 

crawl between the sheets

I am reminded

 

this scent

 

it is all I have left

of you.

 

BAN