current music: Everything - Lifehouse

I, for the life of me, cannot write prose poetry. :(


Dance

Our steps were broken, half-hearted verses. We wondered, with you leaning on my shoulders and our hands losing themselves in our mazed fingers why the wind was unseen, why you wanted me to title my poems after it. It was there, undoubtedly, like a God's love. Like angels. But never apparent, Always in question. Every other day, we would steal away, and we went, whispering rimmed rhymes from beyond the track oval, or plagiarizing a phone line or two from wise men who knew little. We swayed to the music, that evening, I holding your pale white hand creaming at your tears streaming. You told me (without words) love was something painful, something in doubt that kept you up at night, tossing at turning, clutching to the angel statuette I gave you to keep you safe and to conduit my mute prayers for you. My hands stood beside you and your red dress and there, I watched you grow wings and float into the eyes of the lost boy across the hall. Today, you're away, in the arms of another, and I, keeping the lost metaphors of our whispered poem in stasis, in icy black and white.


Kung sinuman diyan marunong, patulong po. Salamat.