Pens and Pages

Jesse-James Black Photography Tears not wept out from a long, long time When days turn into meaningless nights. She shall smile some other day, Some other time. Each word she writes holds a story within- She shall make you read it some other day, Some other time. With a million stories so hard to tell, Poems so hard to narrate, She shall write it with each tear she drops, But another day, Another time. She picks up thorns The way you collect coins, Found on a happy day On an empty street. She has made her own museum now Of thorns that didn't pinch her skin, But yet made her bleed. Some day she shall spend those thorns, Like you'd spend yours On some crowded river-side On a weekend away from home. But she'd save those like you save your coins, To let them loose only when she'd weep for the first time, On some other day, Some other time....

I have seen fresh flowers decay; I have seen them rot and die. So, I know things end And I could just sulk and cry. Tears slosh within me like waves. No, don't look at me in the eye. For even if your eyes touch mine I'll just run away, hide and cry. Things will never be the same Now that you're leaving my side. Who knows if we'll meet again Or if it indeed is our last Goodbye. Goodbye.

From the last two days I've seen no night, No darkness, no dusk, no rains, no blight. My orchard's flowers seem to shine bright. Birds chirp around and butterflies alight. Grandmother's woven the sweater, at last, of Brother's embroidered shirt's size. From the last two days I can hardly count The days of happiness I've lived in disguise. Summer ain't so hot nor have I seen Winter's chill. From the last two days, life doesn't seem so hard. No, don't bring me the stars from the sky, I'm planting sunshine in my backyard.