I wanted to write rhyming poetry,
but realise I have no rhythm.
The Ring
This message was deleted
That was the last thing I read from you. Having come home to find nothing of you left, besides your ring on the kitchen table. I sat at that table for sometime, before deciding to write you a simple one-worded message, ‘Why?’ This message was deleted, was the response. Deleted? How can you delete a memory? How can years be simply, deleted? That ring sat on the kitchen table, in the same spot, for exactly three months, with hope that its orignal owner would come back to claim it.
Three months and one day later, I decide to call your bluff. I take my ring off, placing it side by side to yours, and go to work. On my way home, there is an excitement and anticipation that I have not felt for some time. I rush to put the key in the door. And as I turn the lock, I expect something new, something different, some kind of change. But the truth, still remains the truth. There the two rings sit. Side-by-side.
We see each other out and about, neither one acknowledging the other. Each time, walking in our separate ways – which is exactly how it should be. I have no bad feelings towards you. None. Time, as they say, does heal wounds – old and new. And you know what? I still wear my ring, taking it off only and when I sit down at the kitchen table.
My Love
My love, I want to hold you close, locked in an embrace,
as we dance alone on the moon.
And who’s going to pay for that?, she replies.
And that’s when I realise, why I love her so.
Trapped
Some days I think I’m going to achieve such greatness –
then I eventually realise that it’s just trapped wind.
BoxedIn
Thinking outside the box,
is not necessary,
if you refuse to go in it.
Toxic Waste
I had a dream that my lungs filled with toxic waste called air.
Each inhale becoming at last, an exhale.
An inhale, becoming my last
exhale.
Time Wasted
I’m running out of time,
with another day wasted,
fully aware, that this has all been one big flop.
I just didn’t know how to get to you.
And, my biggest regret?
I will never know what it was like,
to kiss those lips.
The Circle
When I let my stubbornness and individuality get the better of me,
I always say, next time will be different…
but then my stubbornness and individuality get the better of me.
The Metamorphosis
Opening his mouth,
letting his words pour out,
he went from extraordinary,
to extra ordinary.
Work in Progress
We are all, works in progress.
Working towards progress.
Progressing towards work.
Working to progress it out,
to work it out.
Works in progress.
Progress, work.
Progress works!
Work progresses.
Working it.
Work It.
Werk.
Work.