The Fall

Maybe it was the fact that we loved each other way too much, too soon, too desperately, as if there could be no other second in life without us belonging to one another. And we forgot about our broken souls for a minute, and ignored our wounded pride, handed our history over to the past, along with that last second lived without knowing the taste of each other's kiss. And when pain came back and found us, like it always does, to remind us of who we really are, it stared at us from the eyes of the other. My faults lay cold and frigid in your river green eyes, your hurt nestled in mine, like a butterfly with broken wings. We knew to love like autumn: beautifully, gasping for our last breath.
-gypsywrites

One day we will sing to the rythm of crickets,
Tell life stories under stars,
Run naked under moonlight,
Love and dance among shadows, to the rattle of leaves,
Defeat cold and rain with the warmth of our bodies,
      the friction of skin against skin,
Tell time by the chirping of birds,
       the smell of fresh dew,
       the rumbling of hungry tummies,
Wiggle our toes in wet green grass before looking for shoes,
Kiss before speaking,
Giggle like babies at the touch of sweet sunshine,
Find peace in the expanse of skies.
      One day we will love simply again.
-gypsywrites

I remember that moment like an old family portrait,

Your hair, bright as red sunshine, tousled by slumber,

The creases on the pillow still there, 

Where you lay your head to wake a new day, 

Our bed still redolent of dreams, like lover's perfume,

And your voice, singing folk songs, soothing as a breath of ocean waves, 

The smell of fresh coffee, 

The distant clank of pans, 

The soft trickle of sink water, 

And you, coming to me like an apparition,

Magical as morning. 

One day we will love simply again. 

-gypsywrites 

Road Song

I follow the trail of the shadows. Midnight howls its solitude to stars that shine like dilated pupils; howls its dark like the whelp calls for the wolf, the wolf to the moon. My wife sleeps by my side, entrusting Mother Mountain with my vigil. Voluptuous like a whale surfing the waters, Mountain stretches herself against the sky, silent with the wisdom of old ages. I roll onward, disrobing the pain of mortals, pain ancient as night, singing my sorrows with the hoot of the owls.

And I roll onward down the road of those that give their stories to dark skies, who know no hymn sweeter than the hum of their engines, who confide their dreams to no one but the shooting stars. I follow the trail of the traveler, the trail with no Time.

             Rolling,
rolling onward toward the city,
where man goes to die.

-gypsywrites