Love Letter

Note: This poem is a sestina which is supposed to be one of the hardest types of poems to write and it is really complicated but I enjoy writing them.

The Love Letter

A pen moves slowly across the page, her hand
steady gripping it tight with well-worn fingers.
And this will be a letter containing love
that hasn't been spoken of. Her secret hopes
come alive across this paper. And her eyes
shine, praying she doesn't give away her heart.

Not that she has always had a heavy heart
or even knew she did. Now her graceful hand
fly's across the page, words scrambled her hazel eyes
cannot comprehend what she writes. Her ring finger
feels too empty. No silver ring to hold hopes
of a defined future or show a shared love.

So words fill up paper after paper, love
formed by word and meaning spelling out her heart.
Can you explain years worth of dreams and hopes?
Her head and mouth cannot explain but her hands
can as they move across this paper, fingers
molded to a pen. She can't see with heavy eyes.

Her mind remembers the sunset of his eyes,
how they shown and carried depths of unsaid love.
Thoughts move past thinking, connecting to fingers
that dance to their music, soundtracks of her heart.
As she writes out this confession her hands
no longer feel physical, a holder of hope.

Thats why she's writing this letter, her own hopes
needing to be said. You can tell by her eyes
for they hold her truth like secondary hands.
They show her life and an honesty of love
a doorway to her soul and inside her heart.
Doors only opened when pen touches fingers.

But now her pen slows, no more words for fingers
to fly across like wind. All of her hopes
finally said, laid out with an exposed heart.
She can't tell what kind of tears flow from her eyes
just that they flow and hold some kind of old love
that she has felt now written by knowing hands.

Her heart now exposed to him, told by fingers
connected to lonely hands that hold to hope
seen through her eyes, said in this letter of love.

Love Stories

I should be more inspired by this
I shouldnt think of you as much as this
But my heart it wanders and wonders and wanders
But my heart it wonders and wonders

Was there a time we were different?
Were "we" ever a different "we"?

Just hold me and and tell me love stories
Like when we first met and fell head over heels
Show me how our hearts fall in right places
And let me know this is right by love stories

In my dreams we dance and dance
In my dreams we sing and laugh forever and a day
And my heart wakes up not wanting to let go
And my heart wakes up wishing all of it were so

Was there a time we were different?
Were "we" ever a different "we"?

Just hold me and and tell me love stories
Like when we first met and fell head over heels
Show me how our hearts fall in right places
And let me know this is right by love stories

And maybe we can fall in love once
Cause timing is a sauce dear
and we never get the recipe right
We can never seem to get us right.

Can there be a time we'll be different?
Can "we" ever be a diffeent "we"?

Just Hold me and tell me love stories
Like hoe we first met and fell head over heels
Show me how our hearts fell in right places
And let me know this is right by love stories

Yes, Just let me know this right
Tell me our love stories.



*I am dieing to put this one to actual music. I can hear it in my head
**the timing is a sauce line is something a friend of mine said a while back.

My Late Night Rain

Good evening rain,
Can you kiss my skin?
Good evening rain,
Would let me in?

You know the secrets
of letting go
Of falling far down
from this big sky

Would you leave your
scent and drops in my hair?
Or just disappear when
the sun comes to greet us?

Would you love me for now
and stay past morning?
Or will your sounds fade away
with my eyes closing?

Good evening Rain,
my late night rain
Would God speak to me
if I stood in the midst of you?

Can you tell me how to let go
of this past and move ahead?
Can you answer my questions?
Would you even try?

Good evening rain,
my late night rain
Would talk with me till morning
and help this insomnia wear off

Would you creep into my dreams
and give me answers
to all the questions that your
droplets cannot speak

Good evening rain,
Would you let these questions go?
Good evening rain,
Would you let me in?

The Near-Off Romance

(Props to TheProf on the Switchfoot Boards for helping with the name title)

You're sitting in the car with your head wandering places
But the thing you're thinking about is right next to you
And you hands are close as they can be without touching or holding
How long can we make this last? How much longer can this go?

And you just can't decide, the fence a new friend
And your heart is beating. Beating, beating.
It's locked in a cage to get into his hands
And your feet are running. Running, running.

He can see the heart on your sleeve, the look in your eyes
Make you laugh with a voice and mad with another-enough to cry
And he's asking what your thinking-can you even answer?
And he wants to know you more-can you even tell yourself?

And you just can't decide, the fence a new friend
And your heart is beating. Beating, beating.
It's locked in a cage to get into his hands
And your feet are running. Running, running.

Is your heart even yours? Can you still guard it?
Is this choice still yours? Can you keep it?
And maybe it's already made, but you're still fighting
Needs and wants are different things love, despite what this world teaches

And now you've decided, the fence waiting in the distance
Your heart is still a jackrabbit, beating. Beating, beating.
Its sitting on your sleeve and and waiting to be held by him
But your feet are not running. Running, running.

You're sitting in the car with your head wandering places
But the thing you're thinking about is right next to you

Comprehensible (Can any of you understand?)

You need two voices in your head to write a tune—the critic and the dreamer. They both have to cooperate and start dating for good songs to come.-
Jon Foreman, CCM Magazine interview

I've been a rough patch recently and it's coming out in my writing.

I cannot trust my own words
Only use others to show I feel
I cannot trust my own words
They turn into ramblings around you

Am I even comprehensible anymore?
Can any of you understand what I say?

And this feels so familiar
But completely new in the same aspect
Can we find the words to explain ourselves
Or for once shall we leave it up to God

Who knew this would ever happen
How could we ever see in course of all these years
And for the hopes we held and wishes we made
It would never turn out the way we thought it would be

Am I even comprehensible anymore?
Can any of you understand what I say?

And this feels so familiar
But completely new in the same respect
Can we find the words to explain ourselves
Or for once shall we leave it up to God

And someday we'll find this middle ground
Someday it might be dark and a place we hate
Someday it might shine some light into our lives
Someday we we will understand
Someday we will understand ourselves
Someday our mouths will open and the words will come
Someday we will understand...

Am I even comprehensible anymore?
Can any of you understand what I say?

And this feels so familiar
But completely new in the same respect
Can we find the words to explain ourselves
Or for once shall we leave it up to God

I cannot trust my own words

Running.

You're lost and running babe
So lost and running
Running running running
Lets pray you run into the right arms

You've always had a head on right
Logic right and tight
But these feelings get the best of you
These take hold tight of you

And you're running fast
You're running far
You're running into unknown arms
And I sit here open with mine baby
As you run into unknown arms
I sit here with mine wide open.

You can't fight anymore
Slow build ups paralyze you
Your heart is wounded
But you hide from the medics

And you're running fast
You're running far
You're running into unknown arms
And I sit here open with mine baby
As you run into unknown arms
I sit here with mine wide open.

And wish you past was different
There's no running from it
Just pushing forward, avoiding mistakes
Just moving forward, moving forward

You're running fast
You're running far
You're running into unknown arms
And I sit here open with mine baby
As you run into unknown arms
I sit here with mine wide open.

You're lost and running babe
So lost and running
Running running running
Lets pray you run into the right arms

Her hands...His hands.

He watched her walk across the snow. It's all he could do. And okay, maybe it was weird if someone looked over and saw him just watching her, he didn't care.
He watched her walking in the snow, all bundled up, her breath see able. Her water bottle stuck in the pocket of an over sized sweatshirt, the hood hiding her newly black hair. He saw her stop and take a picture of something in the distance, then turn off the camera and tie it securely around her wrist. And her hands.
She was smart enough to not wear her sandals during winter, but her gloves always remained in her pocket. So he watched her hands swinging at her sides. He could the rings she had on-the one had been her mother's on her right hand right finger. A butterfly with a different color on each wing. And the silver band on her left hand. A "promise" ring. A promise to who? He had asked once. Whoever I marry. She replied.
He knew without seeing her fingernails were long. She hated cutting them and there were threads hanging from her jacket where the fingernails had gotten caught.
It was the same routine everytime.
He would start to watch her walk , focusing on this detail and that one, remembering more memories and her personality with each. He wouldnt linger on things like her chest though. She always he did but in truth they both hated the kind of guys who lingered on such things. Maybe she couldnt get it out of her head that he was a guy. Couldnt figure out he was different.
He knew she was the day they met. That strange "group therapy". He hadn't looked at her for the first two weeks but when he did she had been taking off her gloves to reveal those long thin hands with scars up and down them. Okay, maybe her scars weren't on her hands. But her sleeves had fallen dow an inch or two and he'd seen the long spindly lines that crossed over into the edges of her palms. Later she would tell him how she used to cut down her fingers on the undersides too but you couldnt see those scars anymore. They had mostly faded and been mixed with cat scratches.
Her arms and wrists? He hadn't seen them in a long time. All winter she'd kept her arms covered and had said back in summer she wanted a tattoo over that area. Maybe that's where she walking from. Usually she came from the store, either with a bag of groceries from home or junk food for the two of them. And everytime they would walk for a mile or so, by his place and hers, just talking. And for the longest he had wanted to hold that hand. He couldnt imagine how cold it must be now, with no gloves on them. But they were friends, and she didn't trust easy. Maybe four years of being with no one had let her build it up again. Maybe this long winter is what would make her fingers stretch towards his.
He almost sworn the last time they'd walked she had, but that had been valentine's day, both of them lonely, and her hands looking lovely as ever.
He couldn't explain it, but no matter where his thoughts went, they always traveled back to her hands. In his dreams, its all he saw of her.

Maybe he thought. Maybe today would be the day. Her birthday was soon and as much as she felt she couldn't step back into dating, he could see in her eyes the want to have someone again. It was a reflection of his own, but then, his own celibacy had been for almost completely different reason. In the beginning of it anyways.

He snapped out of his thoughts as she got closer, only having to cross the walkway now. He would always forget she was walking towards him. this time, he saw, she held no bags, her hands wide open. And within seconds they were walking, talking about new exciting things.




She couldn't sleep that night. And not for the reasons she hadn't slept years ago. She was happy. Content. She didn't want that day to end. He had finally held her hand. Okay, yes, she had done her part pushing him away, keeping to her singleness, but her original time had far run out and the she knew both her friends and God kept bringing him to her mind.
She had been worried. She never wanted to go to far. Maybe that's why she'd dreamt about his hands. Because holding hands was innocent, it kept you together, but in a simple way. It you kept holding hands those hands couldn't really go anywhere else.
Maybe holding hands was the key to finally taking a relationship slow, who knew?
Maybe she was more worried about the friendship that was going into this, or maybe it was other worries. She had just been happy for him to finally hold her hand.
Oh and the warmth. It was no secret she never wore gloves but the feel of him palm pressed on hers, it was the complete opposite. It was one of those they warm me up while I cool them down things.
She turned over in bed finally falling asleep. Maybe tomorrow she would take him to the tattoo shop with her. She'd wanted somebody to hold her hand.