I hear you creeping
Through the deep blackness
Of the nighttime basement
Eyes glowing, anticipating
A haven underground
You are awaited by
A willing sacrifice.
As morning begins to
Stroke the dusty blinds
You lay all your jewels
In the warmth of the sun
Fearing a stranger demise
Than that you would have given.
You hum a surreal bittersweet tune
I wrote in a daydream
As we watch in our voluntary trance
Your movement to hide
The true feelings your spirit possesses
As I reach out to you
You bare your vulnerable soul
And this ritual is at once
Dismissed, replaced by
Acceptance and Nakedness.
Whitney December 2002
... Rubato
October 2002
Another day alone, but
You are not far away
I am waiting for a fantasy
That’s Never coming true
But my heart still soars
Lifted, floating, dancing
Swaying to the melody
I entreat in my head
I lay in the warmth of the sun
As silent as the breeze
But the pulsing beat of my heart
Plays a passionate drumbeat
At the sound of your voice
Or merely the fleeting thought
Of your sweet face
I pray for rain
Whose gentle sonatas
And brave finales
Wash away all fear
And I pray they come
Before my vain longing
Is turned into loathing.
Whitney
Another day alone, but
You are not far away
I am waiting for a fantasy
That’s Never coming true
But my heart still soars
Lifted, floating, dancing
Swaying to the melody
I entreat in my head
I lay in the warmth of the sun
As silent as the breeze
But the pulsing beat of my heart
Plays a passionate drumbeat
At the sound of your voice
Or merely the fleeting thought
Of your sweet face
I pray for rain
Whose gentle sonatas
And brave finales
Wash away all fear
And I pray they come
Before my vain longing
Is turned into loathing.
Whitney
A Spill
Listen….
With a sweet, sliding scale
Like the heartbreaking voice of an opera singer
The birds, flying swiftly, burst in song
And fade away.
Whitney October 2002
With a sweet, sliding scale
Like the heartbreaking voice of an opera singer
The birds, flying swiftly, burst in song
And fade away.
Whitney October 2002
Train of Thought
17 October 2002
My brain
Flits back and forth
Between reality and
Incredible fantasy
Sweet kisses in the dark
Bound to bring agony
And confusion
But as inevitable as
The rise of the tide.
Gliding through moments
Graced in the resounding
Silver light of love.
They seem like hours.
A flash of light
My soul is exposed
In the light as bright as day
Hopes and dreams glitter
In iridescent golds and greens
I ache in the pit of my stomach
My need for you is physical pain.
But my mind flies once again
To happy visions I entreat in my head
Falling leaves cool drifting wind
Anything to kill the piercing dagger
That is the absence of you.
Whitney
My brain
Flits back and forth
Between reality and
Incredible fantasy
Sweet kisses in the dark
Bound to bring agony
And confusion
But as inevitable as
The rise of the tide.
Gliding through moments
Graced in the resounding
Silver light of love.
They seem like hours.
A flash of light
My soul is exposed
In the light as bright as day
Hopes and dreams glitter
In iridescent golds and greens
I ache in the pit of my stomach
My need for you is physical pain.
But my mind flies once again
To happy visions I entreat in my head
Falling leaves cool drifting wind
Anything to kill the piercing dagger
That is the absence of you.
Whitney
Disorientation
In my dream
I walk through a vacant house.
A little boy cries in an orange room
A baby is born
Faded, bleached photographs
Line the walls as the
Furnace rattles
Next to the unmade futon.
Water seeps through the cracks
A phone rings in the distance
Is it for me?
I sigh, and realize
It couldn’t be.
My muscles are sore
My heart is uncertain
My conscience aches.
Burning sun, frostbiting wind
Scorch my skin and chill my body
My brain is dishonest, uncertain, full of hate.
The stairs are steep and never-ending
Untuned piano with yellow keys
Chopin echoes, melancholy
Flowing from my fingers
Swirling amber leaves
Rest in the gutter
And I know
I can’t love you
Like you love me.
Whitney 17 October 2002
I walk through a vacant house.
A little boy cries in an orange room
A baby is born
Faded, bleached photographs
Line the walls as the
Furnace rattles
Next to the unmade futon.
Water seeps through the cracks
A phone rings in the distance
Is it for me?
I sigh, and realize
It couldn’t be.
My muscles are sore
My heart is uncertain
My conscience aches.
Burning sun, frostbiting wind
Scorch my skin and chill my body
My brain is dishonest, uncertain, full of hate.
The stairs are steep and never-ending
Untuned piano with yellow keys
Chopin echoes, melancholy
Flowing from my fingers
Swirling amber leaves
Rest in the gutter
And I know
I can’t love you
Like you love me.
Whitney 17 October 2002
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