Everything Across One's Heart

 

By Aleksandra Waliszewska

Once in a while, that is almost every day,
Haven't failed the spark in my heart,
Ever growing, the sun inside you
a glimmering supernova that I love.

For a moment, there is peace,
Aligned faces, misaligned opportunities.
Drowned in fear, I was a boy of past,
But now I have you, such heat to cast.

To think my quill abandoned you
is an illusion for distances unknown.
I find my words from the drawer
that I lock with the hand's oath.

Long ago, we met under hallow sights,
Constrained restrictions under the clock,
Yet, how can a man contain himself
when it starts beating once like a child?

An alluring vision, dethroning beauty,
Yet no word of mine shall explain.
For I know and that is enough,
In the valley, heart's train chuffs.

Gown in cinder, like the souls of
people haven't met your eyes.
The words that I put to my lips
Like a sacrament, a dawn reawakens.

Feel the wind that blows through your hair,
The cold, yet refreshing, water,
The bird that chirps over the garden,
those I am.

Intertwined souls, maybe bit of a claim
that may not excite you, aye?
Daring to say, even the words of such
a dream is fulfilling.

Lovers nowadays believe that every hand
connected every day is a blessing.
I adore the absence for I welcome the
memories only to welcome the new.

Couples nowadays live it simple and
all they do is stare, but to the eye.
Glimpses of the heart is the sight
that blossoms within my mind.

Walking through pathless woods
I want to stumble into you,
Never to find my path again,
Losing myself in you.

Then again, am I making this all up for you?
Questions rather than answers, why
seek the void when the pleasure to
feel can unearth us?

An anguish grows within the heart
for dead poets write for their torment.
Shall it be my execution then,
I'd love to dance with Death.

Suffocation of a bleeding quill is 
a sight pale eyes can never see.
They read, but unlike yours
they never feel.

When annihilation is at hand
and twisted souls knock on my door
I greet you, for the door and the soul
are me.

Fret not, nobody has the beautiful
chap and the lady, though they
happen to be at the right place
whereas their dance is not in session.

Too much blood has been spilled
to create everything and now,
I prepare myself for it
The swan song.

How many times
had I felt the need
    ever growing
to wait, only for a cup of
word of growth
    one to enjoy
to be spilled out.
Wrong.
For words only spill
beyond the mist.
Each stanza, cracking through
trying to reach out to you
spreading the light
    not through my eyes
    but the heart
and shattering the fog.
Each stanza, smells of strawberry
rotten or alive
    matters not, does it?
but they remain.
Each stanza, burdened
with the glory of you
and they bask in glory
for they serve you.
Each stanza, now shattered in pieces
    are they
        reminiscent of something?
but to collect them
is to meet me.
Each word
    ever small
        yet strong
    ever meaningless
        yet invaluable
    ever used
        yet unused
    ever imagined
        yet afraid
    ever dark
        yet hopeful
served you.


˙sǝɥɔɐoɹddɐ ƃuos uɐʍs ǝɥ┴

Completed on August 2nd, 2023.

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