I use to be very poetic, but somewhere between senior year in high school and then college, I lost all my spunk and my muze. I use to write the hell out of love now... I rarely blog about it. I had a Xanga at one point and I was surprised to see that it was still up. Well, there was this poem that I thought was BEAUTIFUL and as soon as I wrote it on my blog... it died down, wasn't recognized from that point on. I decided to bring it back to life:
Lost in Translation (inspiration)
Lost in translation (cycles)
I think of him.
a velvety shade of midnight accented with French truffles
an old English style, elegant like Old England ruffles
yeah, loving him is an occupation,
his shade breeds roots deeper than the emancipation
issued around the oak tree,
my country tis of thee, rings liberties from his mysterious brown eyes, his eyes, civilizes my society, my reality
breaking myths of an arctic heart, barriers rupture, love is harnessed
a relationship emerges through the translation of words.
We’re playing four letter scrabble; what I said he heard,
his eyes gave truth to his heart’s babble.
It mumbles
love.
I check my watch. He manages to monopolize my thoughts.
love
at first sight of his person
first shared syllable of his banter
first touch of his hand
first taste of his lips
first rhythm in which our hearts share a similar frequency
we now, caress each other mentally frequently no words needed.
Our future:
A couple of years relationship experienced but not needed,
Black Armani tuxedo pants pleated, off-white, hand-made wedding dress forecast innocence depleted in a sense, repentance granted an immaculate purity
rings exchange now just a reflection of me,
definition of unity
the translation of understanding
Fixing my dress I wondered what we are doing…it’s so surreal right now.
Marriage rushes by. Honey moon never ceases
after four children, one possessing his name
and our beautiful faces are creasing, it’s never a bad time for our love,
Everyday is pleasing
peace is achieved as our off spring flies the coop
Our perfect communication which was overtaken by
lavish occupations is finally overcame,
remember when sex was our Tylenol
we rather indulge in Coca-Cola for the remote traces
love is etched in the wrinkles of our faces but never in the finger tips of our touch
slowly together isolated we’re dying.
We embrace each other as if I’m returning to his rib like Adam and Eve,
He becomes my breath,
we return to formal glory, death brings a vivid life, translating our lost relationship into husband and wife
of a new stature.
Our friends become envious of the perfection we’ve created and they can’t have,
grandchildren mischievous,
our love transcends reality delegating our problems to a passing storm, or gently breeze. We constantly freeze, A Kodak picture ready for an eternal life portrait.
Our Death portrays, perfection, engraved with a century of moments.
My phone rings, I hear your deep voice. “Hey.” Funny I was just thinking about you. I think I’m ready.
